


Talk Dirty To Me

by Onecelestialbeing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onecelestialbeing/pseuds/Onecelestialbeing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is convinced by a friend to join a website geared towards witches and wizards with an inclination for unconventional socialising. Titillated like never before by mere conversation, she eventually meets this man who has captured her attention. Written for the lovely TeddyRadiator for the winter 2013 SSHG Promptfest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TeddyRadiator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyRadiator/gifts).



"So tell me again, Hermione. What did he say to you?"

Hermione continued scribbling on the roll of parchment beneath her nose, refusing to dignify her co-worker and close friend's question until her sentence was finished.

"I've already told you three times," she grumbled, almost stabbing a hole into the letter with her quill as she hastily dotted a full stop on the end. "How many more times do I need to repeat myself? And don't you have your own work to finish?"

"You know I never finish my work on a Friday," Mina murmured as if this was something normal. She leaned her hip into the corner of Hermione's desk while holding up her freshly blue varnished nails to blow on them. "Now stop pissing about and tell me!"

"You'd better not let Kingsley hear you say that," Hermione warned. "And will you get away from my desk? That stuff is giving me a headache."

"I'll move only if you tell me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, and then paused to look around the office.

"Don't even try it, Hermione. You know full well that you and I are the only two idiots still here, mostly because everyone's gone off to start their weekend!" Mina whined. "Now quit your stalling and spill!"

"I hate you, do you know that?"

"Just so you know, words like that sting less and less if you repeat them all the time," Mina chortled, but she did move back to her desk, hopping up to sit on its edge. "I'm waiting."

"Fine, you annoying little...that idiot told me, and I quote 'Fuck me, you've got a gorgeous mouth. Can you suck me off like you love me and let me come in your mouth'. And he spelled come c-u-m, and used the letter 'u' for you. If you're going to talk dirty and insult me at the same time, at least have the courtesy to spell properly."

By that time, Mina had begun laughing hysterically, becoming so excited that she fell off her desk and had to flail to catch herself.

"Shit!" she swore when her wet nails accidentally touched her face, leaving behind a large bright blue smudge. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry to laugh at you, but that is too funny!"

"I wish that nail varnish were permanent," Hermione groused, watching as Mina furiously wiped at her cheek with two fingers. "Well I'm glad to have amused you, even though the entire thing was and remains _your fault."_

"Hermione—" Mina began, pausing to use the heel of her palm to carefully move various things strewn about her desk. Finally finding her wand, she aimed it at her face and then nails before she continued speaking. "I told you _—don't_  post a picture of yourself. It only makes the creeps, pervs, and paedophiles come out to play. But did you listen to me? Noo."

"But you've had one up of yourself!" Hermione spluttered. "And besides, it's not like you could see my entire face; most of it was hidden!"

"Yeah, hidden and leaving those gorgeous cock sucking lips exposed for all the dirty world to see. Anyway, I know how to handle the perverts. You give them the old 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' bit and then send them a picture of some random bloke's stiff prick. Believe me, you'll nearly be able to hear them through the computer screen, screaming and running away in abject terror."

There was another long pause before Hermione asked, "You keep pictures of random penises on your computer?"

"Yess," Mina drew out, as if there was nothing strange about it. "But if you don't want to use a stranger's, well, you've got that old ginger boyfriend, haven't you? Tell him to drop trou and whip out your camera!"

"I have no intentions of ever seeing Ron's dangly bits again. And I know there's being straightforward but, my god, that idiot was as subtle as a bludger to the head. Never mind that we had never spoken so much as two words to one another before. Don't people usually begin conversations with 'hello' before talking about their genitals becoming intimately acquainted with your mouth?"

"Some of them do. But then again, the one I'm talking to now... his first message to me was 'how big are your nipples?' And we've been seeing each other for six months. Speaking of which, I wish you'd hurry the hell up so we can get out of here. David and I made dinner plans and I'd like to get one in before our date."

Hermione suddenly looked as if she was trying to suss out the answer to a difficult riddle. "Do you ever think about anything besides your crotch?"

"Why yes, yes I do. My arse and tits. Especially my nipples; I love when David sort of bites on them. Oh, and my feet, too. He gives one hell of a foot massage."

Already fed up with their conversation and resigning herself to the fact that she was not going to get any more work done that day, Hermione flicked her wand about, causing her paperwork to began sorting and stacking itself into neat, separate piles. Upon seeing this, it took Mina no time to gather her coat and belongings. She then tossed Hermione's things onto her desk, the gesture meaning for her to hurry up.

"I could have gotten my own purse, Mina," Hermione told her dispassionately.

"Well I did it for you," Mina urged. "Come on! Just because you're going home to leftover casserole and one of those soppy romance novels doesn't mean I have to be tardy."

There was a long stretch of silence as Hermione took her time slipping her arms into each sleeve of her jacket.

"I did tell you that I hated you, right?"

"Yeah, now makes the fifth time today. Come along, Granger."

The two witches walked through the deserted Ministry offices and headed to the lift. Once they were at the main level, they bid each other goodbye before taking separate Floos to go home.

 _Lucky tart,_ Hermione thought with a tinge of jealously as she watched her glowing-cheeked friend practically pirouetting amongst the green flames, doing what could only be construed as a I'm-looking-forward-to-having-my-brains-shagged-out move. Hermione ended up doing some wriggling about of her own, but it had nothing to do with planned sex, and everything to do with flailing to keep upright when her heel got caught on an even patch in the hearth.

It wasn't Mina's fault that she hadn't been on a date in longer than she could remember, much less being on the receiving end of mind-blowing sex. Not that the opportunity wasn't there; as Hermione grew older she found that finding a sex partner wasn't all that hard. How many times had she gone out with girlfriend, magical and Muggle alike, and found a man giving her the eye? All she had to do was return their obvious stares, and if she was feeling bold enough, walk up on them and chat them up.

Having had only two partners before, the first being Ron, whom she had an off-on relationship for a few years, and in between, one brief fling with a man she'd met on holiday, Hermione learnt a few things about herself: one, she liked sex and had an extremely open mind towards it. Two, if she were to admit to someone about all her suppressed fantasies, she risked being called a nutter; and three, that casual sex was not her forte.

She and Ron had lost their virginities to one another. While he hadn't exactly lacked in the trouser department, the fit still felt a bit off, and his enthusiasm lasted right until he climaxed. Once he reached a high-pitched, shuddering release, which was always accompanied by droplets of sweat from his forehead falling onto her, any further efforts to please her were forgotten. Hermione remembered feeling distinctly put off by Ron's perspiration dripping onto her, not to mention remaining horny beyond belief because she rarely got off. With him, everything had been too much or not enough; too much rabid screwing and not enough foreplay. Going down on her for a long time, yet never quite hitting the spot, even after she tugged on his ginger hair and directed his mouth to her clitoris. Even then, his mouth and tongue felt hot, yet too dry, but somehow when he kissed her, it had been too wet. And his fingers... more than once Hermione had to explain that just because she felt wet did not mean that she was wet enough for him to touch her as if he was rooting through soil.

"Vaginas aren't known to be dry as a desert, Ronald," she'd told him. "Of course it's going to feel damp, but it doesn't mean that you should just shove your way in!" When he continued grousing, Hermione offered to shove her dry finger up his arsehole, just to prove her point.

Ron had immediately shut his mouth, but his silence reflected that Hermione had insulted his very manhood, all because she had been trying to steer him into touching her the way she preferred. Too bad about his hurt feelings; she'd had her fill of going home with chafed privates, all because he refused to heed her subtle, and then direct instruction.

As for the slightly older man that she'd had the fling with...the sex hadn't been that bad, but perhaps she had been so enthusiastic that she experienced denial. But when he came to completion...Merlin help her. The man had let out a roar that sounded like a pig being slaughtered, mixed with the cry of some mythical creature that dippy Luna Lovegood had continuously babbled about when they were back at school. It had been all Hermione could do to not laugh outright, since his face had been right above hers. In an effort to keep at bay what would have been screaming laughter, she'd bitten down hard on her bottom lip until the coppery tang of blood tickled her tongue. The poor sod made things even worse when he mistook her body's trembling as the result of passion rather than sordid amusement, and he continued attempting to dirty talk her into orgasm—the stirrings of which had been long gone— by speaking in that horrible elfish voice made squeaky by lust. On top of it all, he'd bragged about his trouser snake over dinner, and for all his bluster, turned out to have nothing more than a flobberworm.

Hermione knew that her face was too honest, much too expressive, and ended up ducking him whenever they passed one another at the hotel. He looked properly confused at breakfast and had stared quizzically at her from his table, most likely wondering why she looked to be on the brink of snorting and choking. In actuality, Hermione had been replaying his awkward moaning in her head, and was trying her damndest to not tip out of her chair from an uncharacteristic, uncontrollable bout of raucous laughter.

So yes, she was going to go home to a two-day-old dinner, a glass or two of wine _–lies, Granger, you're going to down the entire bottle—_  and books. And perhaps her detachable showerhead.

Mina did mean well, Hermione had to admit. The two met had each other at the Muggle-Wizard Inter-relations Department at the Ministry of Magic, and hit it off almost instantly.

The two young women were six months apart in age, and also only the only child in their families. Mina Reynaud, on the other hand, was the daughter of a French wizard and a Muggle woman from Spain. She hadn't attended Beauxbatons; instead, her education had been received at a private institution, which focused on magical and non-magical studies. Hermione, who believed that she knew everything, never heard of such a school and had been fascinated to hear Mina talking about her experiences there.

Because most of Hermione's friends and acquaintances were people she had gone to Hogwarts with, it had been refreshing to meet someone outside of her usual circle. It also hadn't hurt to find that Mina was a bookworm like her, although she sometimes did things of a less cerebral nature, such as spending hours watching crap telly. Junk food was usually involved, and Hermione had unerringly picked up both habits from her friend, but refused to admit it.

Despite Mina being a half-blood, she was very much attuned to her Muggle side. She refused to live in a predominantly magical community, stating that she needed her Muggle amenities to survive.

Hermione definitely sympathised with that notion. While she loved magic, and preferred using it for certain tasks, it did not replace her television, the handful of times during the week that she did watch it. Or her computer, or her stereo. Lamps and overhead lights that could be turned on via switch instead of carrying around candles was another plus.

Hermione's heels clacked on the pavement as she walked briskly to her home. She went through the bog-standard routine that begun ever since moving out of her parents' house; collect the post, hang keys on the pegboard tacked up in the porch. Kick off mildly uncomfortable work shoes and replace them with slippers that she had mournfully abandoned that morning and shoved beneath the little side table pushed against the wall.

Dropping the small stack of letters onto the table while simultaneously using her toes to pinch the fluffy material of her slippers and drag them back out, Hermione shoved her feet inside and shuffled off to the kitchen. Dinner, leftovers from two nights ago, were heated up in the oven and eaten from the same dish while perching on the edge of her sofa. Purely out of habit, she had switched on the telly, just to have some sort of background noise and keep things from feeling so desolate. The evening news was on, which she watched with declining interest, but wasn't arsed enough to get up and turn over.

An hour later, freshly showered, wine in hand and dressed in pyjamas—which was a long, ratty yet soft t-shirt that had been washed nearly to the point of falling apart but miraculously remained intact—Hermione slid into her chair and switched on her computer. Checking her email first, as was another habit, Hermione found that she didn't have much to read. Only a handful of her friends owned computers, two of whom she saw on a regular basis, and they rarely had much need for email.

"Spam...spam...spam...if they're going phish at least be clever. What the... What the hell would I do with a penis enlarger?" Hermione muttered to herself while deleting emails promoting credit cards, coupons for a sandwich shop she'd never heard of, and some ridiculous advert that promised to  _ **'Get you laid TONIGHT!'**_ written in jazzy lettering.

There were only a few things worth paying attention to; a short email from her Dad:

_Hermione, love. Ring your old dad when you get a chance, please? I don't think this mobile phone you bought is working. I was trying to find the phonebook but now it won't even turn on. Oh, and Mum wants to know if you're coming round for dinner on Sunday. Ta!_

The next email was from Mr. Weasley, who had been taught to use a computer by her and Harry. There was no way The Burrow could have been electrically wired to house a computer, and even if it were possible, Mrs. Weasley would be likely to go spare. Thus Mr. Weasley kept trying to find ways to get to Harry's flat to use his. He mostly got a kick out of using the keyboard, which was usually done by the older man hunching forward until his nose was nearly touching the desk, where he then used one finger to slowly tap out messages. His other favourite bit was clicking on things with the mouse, but when he got a little click-happy and made the screen freeze, Harry gently suggested that he stop before something got broken.  
 _  
Hello, Hermione! I know I sent you three messages yesterday, but Harry set me up with my own email address. So if you need another way to contact me this is my new EMAIL ADDRESS._

Harry's email was next, which was time-stamped for two minutes after Mr. Weasley's email had been sent:

_Sorry about that, Hermione. You know how Mr. Weasley gets. Anyway, I'll try to keep him from flooding your inbox._

_-Harry_

Muggle-born or pureblood wizard, Hermione found out that all fathers were nearly the same. Her own dad most likely was having issues with his phone because he refused to wear his eyeglasses at the behest of his daughter and wife, and probably forgot that phone needed charging. As for Mr. Weasley, in spite of her and Ron's breakup, he never treated her any differently. Mrs. Weasley...well, she had been another story. In the beginning, she seemed to take personal offence to her son and his then girlfriend's parting of ways. As of late, she finally began to come around. Hermione suspected that was largely due to Mr. Weasley, who was prone to dropping in her office during the work day, his reasons having little to do with work matters. Of course, he'd say hello and ask after her welfare, but most of the time he lingered near Hermione's desk in hopes of borrowing her mobile so he could play Snake during his lunch break.

Just as Hermione took a long sip of wine and moved to shut down her computer, a brand-new email popped into her inbox.

"I don't want to see anyone's cock!" she shouted at the screen. "And for your sake, you had better not be asking to see anything of mine, at least not without taking me to dinner first!"

Hermione had no idea why she'd let Mina sign her up for Magk, a Wizarding social networking website that surfaced on the internet within the past year. Well, she had an idea, one that she would only privately admit to. Magk was a way to meet other people like her, without the awkwardness of everything else. Some people didn't give a rat's arse about her being one third of the Harry Potter trio that helped to save the world; others looked upon her with something akin to reverence, which was awkward, if not creepy. That had been another spanner thrown into the works of her dating. Besides working like a maniac, casual dating proved to be difficult, or outright embarrassing. For reasons like so, Hermione mostly kept to herself, sometimes going out with Harry and Ginny or Mina. Otherwise she stayed home.

Hermione's parents lamented their twenty-six-year-old daughter staying in most weekends. Mina threatened that her lady bits were going to began developing cobwebs if she didn't use them soon. Harry...Harry had no opinion on Hermione's dating proclivities or the lack thereof. He hadn't been interested when she and Ron were dating, but his only hope was if they didn't stay together, that it wouldn't ruin their friendship. Now, Harry's advice extended to telling Hermione that she should do whatever made her happy and anyone else that had something to say about it could piss off. They had been at dinner when he'd offered that little knut of knowledge. That day, Hermione wondered if he was going to say more but Harry left it at that, most likely because he'd been more interested in his perfectly broiled steak the waiter had just set down in front of him.

Feeling silly for her outburst, even though she was alone, Hermione tentatively clicked open the message from Magk, curious as to who had written her. Her username wasn't remotely creative, compared to the more colourful ones she came across, most of which contained body parts or verbs associated with sex. The bloke that sent her a message asking if he could come in her mouth had the username Shagger69, which fitted his brash personality quite well. Hermione picked the first thing that came to mind and was easy enough to remember: BookLovr1. Her profile picture had been carefully selected and changed, and instead of her face in the little box was now an interesting looking white flower.

So she wondered what made  _User5482_  (a generic name obviously assigned by the website) want to contact her.

 _ **User5482:**_ _"Yarrow flowers. Tell me, was that an attempt at irony, or some thinly-veiled attempt to warn others of your latent desires?"_  
  
"The cheek of some of these men..." Hermione muttered, rereading the terse message two more times while musing if she should send a reply. Deep down, she was secretly impressed with whoever this person was, as they knew from sight alone about the Yarrow flower. But the nerve of them! Yes, Yarrow was touted to be an aphrodisiac, but it was also combined with other herbs for purposes of carrying out love magick.

Deciding to reply to the message, Hermione felt rather smug as she punched in her username and password. Her first order of business was to peeked at this User5482's profile, who, for some reason she assumed to be male. Unfortunately, Mystery Message Sender had their profile completely bare. There was no profile picture, no listed interests, not even a box ticked off to indicate male, female, or undecided.

For all she knew, the person behind the message could have been a three-legged purple unicorn who went by the name of Mufty. No matter, at least Mufty was well versed in their herbs, and Hermione had always like someone with a wet brain.

_-Well, I would have gone with a user picture of yohimbe, but the sight of decimated tree bark is not only off-putting, but might give someone the wrong idea._

Looking as haughty as one could while sitting in their pyjamas, drinking wine and talking to some unknown grey face as a source of amusement on a Friday night, Hermione moved her mouse to the 'send' button and replied, feeling a bit triumphant.

It seemed a bit foolish to expect an immediate response. Thinking of the old adage 'a watched pot never boils' Hermione was prepared to take her wine to bed and spend the rest of her night indulging in crap telly, when a little red asterisk hovered to the right on her inbox on the website.

_"Yohimbe? I suppose you could have posted a picture of its tree and not the bark but both are equally unattractive. Anyway, it is rather clear that you're a bit, shall we say, pent up? You might as well have mentioned Spanish Fly."_

"Alright now, Mister Know-It-All," said Hermione aloud. "How the hell do you know so much about—"

_Pot? Meet kettle, Granger. You really can't talk because everything he...she.._ _**Mufty** _ _mentions, you already know about._

Not knowing where this conversation was headed, Hermione drained her glass and took it to the kitchen for a refill. Something told her that she would need the extra liquid courage to continue carrying on with a person that was obviously direct and most likely had no filter on their mouth.

 _-Perhaps I wanted to be a little more subtle_ , was Hermione's next message, as she didn't know what else to say.

 _"Your picture was the epitome of un-subtle; it practically screamed 'in need of a good, slow screw,"_ Mufty replied.

At that, Hermione stopped reading, becoming a tad affronted. Who the hell did Mufty think they were? They didn't know her to make such assumptions, and besides, even if that was the case, what gave them the right to point it out? She told them so in her next message, while dimly hoping that they would not take offense.

Not Mufty: he, or she, didn't appear perturbed. Still huffing, Hermione resumed reading.

_"I'll have you know that I am nowhere near as gormless as I look, or how others perceive me to be. Moot point, since you can't see me, but I digress. I know someone in dire need of sexual release when I happen across them; in your case, something tells me it has been a very long time since you've had a man's head buried between your legs. Or a woman's, perhaps?"_

Hermione's eyebrows rose high on her forehead after reading that last message. Intriguing as it was, she needed to set the story straight.

_-I suppose abandoning pretence is my better option, especially considering that you can't see me. Anyway, no women— not that I have anything against the idea, but yes, it has been some time since I've had a man do that for me._

Just as Hermione sent off the last message, her long-haired white cat, Duchess, came slinking into the bedroom. Duchess usually preferred to linger near Hermione's feet whenever she was on her computer, mostly because the spot beneath the desk was warm. Sometimes, she literally sat on top of Hermione's feet. Perhaps she knew that her human was busy with...not quite chatting up, but something else, with another human. A man, at that, because she jumped on the bed and curled up at the foot.

 _"Do that?"_ Mufty's next message read.  _"And what is 'that' exactly? Lick your pussy? Having a man playing with your tits, teasing your nipples into two stiff points as his warm tongue savours the deepest parts of you, tasting you in places you've never given thought to?"_

Hermione turned away from the sight of her sleeping cat and had just picked up her wineglass when she saw the next message. She nearly dropped the glass and had to set it back down, not wanting to accidentally spill anything on her keyboard.

Who the hell was this nameless, faceless person? And why the hell was her clitoris throbbing from reading his few, short sentences? When she took too long to reply, another message popped into her inbox.

_"Are you still there? "_

_-I'm still here,_  Hermione typed out with trembling fingers _. -You sort of shocked me there for a moment. I wasn't expecting that.  
_  
 _"I know you weren't. That's why I did it."_

"Smug little..." Hermione trailed, wondering just how to one-up this person who was brassier than a trumpet playing quartet.

 _-Do you always say things for the shock value? Or do you actually live up to your word?_  she finally replied.

 _"I'm going to assume that my bald manner of speaking is not putting you off, considering that you keep writing back. But rest assured; if given the opportunity, I would show you just how serious I am. Typically I hate the 'all mouth and no trousers' bit, but since talking is our only option here... Anyway, I promise that if you were here, talking and questions would be the last thing on your mind."_  
  
Taking another slug of wine, Hermione set down her glass a little too roughly, cursing when she thought that the edge had become chipped. Finding that it was still intact, she carefully placed the expensive glass back down while beginning a mental argument with herself over the question that had sprung up in her mind.

"Don't do it," she warned herself. "Hermione Jean Granger,  _don't do it,_   _ **do not**_ _do it_ _ **."**_

Hermione stared at the sender's last message for a long time. Running her fingers over the narrow stem of the now empty wineglass, she continued with her inner battle, weighing the pros and cons if she were to carry through with the thing burning into the edges of her mind.

Finally plucking up a bit of nerve, all the while wishing that she could type without looking (which was damn near impossible, because Magk only allowed you to type into one tiny screen and one shift of the mouse would move her to the outer edges of the homepage) Hermione clicked on the 'reply' button and rushed to type her next message. Unfortunately, she misspelt quite a few words and had to go back to retype them. Thank god for the wine, else her face would have been burning hot from going through with asking the bold question.  
 _  
-And what would you do if I were there with you?_

Hermione imagined the man sitting behind the other computer would smirk upon reading her message. Or would his obviously sordid mind come up with something so deliciously wicked that it might send her to the verge of climaxing as she sat right there, waiting for a response?

There was only one way to find out.

Almost forgetting to breathe in anticipation of the next message, Hermione twisted round in her computer chair, digging her toes into the hard stand and hissing in pain with the nail on her littlest toe bent in a way nature never intended. Pain radiated through her entire foot, and she was still hunched over, preoccupied with rubbing it, that she nearly missed the little red asterisk pop up over her inbox.

_"Since you've asked nicely, and I do believe in answering a question when posed, I will tell you. I will also assume that you are anticipating the outlandish. In fact, I daresay you are hoping for it, and I aim to satisfy._

_To answer your question, I'd strip you naked as the day you were born and I'd pull you over my lap. I wonder what your nipples look like? No matter, I'd suck on them until your sweet little cunt became slick and swollen and left spots on my trousers. Oh yes, did you know that you could get wet just from me rubbing my tongue along your tits? It is possible and I would prove it by licking your nipples until they were hard enough to cut glass._

_Shall I continue?"_

Breathing hastened and her mouth hanging open, Hermione managed to type back a reply that sounded more suave than the one she screamed to herself in her head.

_-Yes...please._

_"Have you ever been spanked before? Not one that hurts, but one that excites. Hopefully you would allow me to give you one; I think you would enjoy being draped across my lap, facedown while my hands take their time kneading your bum cheeks. I must admit, I do love the feel of a woman's soft, plush bottom beneath my bare hand, so much more enticing than other things I've been forced to handle in life._

_But I digress. The secret to a proper spanking is to know where to slap; too high and it hurts. Too low, and your thighs will be screaming. But that lovely crease where buttock meets thigh, that gorgeous little curve that sometimes peeks beneath the dainty silk or lace of a woman's knickers...if I were to catch right there with the palm of my hand...it would be just enough to make your body sing. A few slaps, a bit of rubbing, I could have your cunny lips cherry-red and swollen within minutes, all without ever setting a finger there. By then I imagine that you would beg me to touch you there—there being your clitoris, which would most likely be stiff as the tip of my pinkie finger. You would probably try to hump my leg like the naughty girl that you are, but you will not come until I want you to._

_Besides, I never said I was done with your spanking. I want to see your bottom turning a lovely shade of red with each strike of my hand. I want to hear you becoming wet for me. I want to see those sweet juices clinging to my hand whenever I accidentally, alright, purposely, get too close to your creamy snatch._

_Maybe I'll let you come at that point—maybe. Perhaps I will allow you to move, allow you to arch your spine and push back so the heel of my hand can brush against that little nub. I can be generous, but I can be selfish. I have no trouble admitting this. Slowly, I would like to slide two fingers into you, watching as they sink into your warm, swollen depths, savouring the sight of your pretty pink pussy trying to suck me inside, clinging to me for dear life._

_Did I mention that I was generous?_

_My thumb might make its way back down to your clit, grazing that little hood protecting it from men like me._

_Right; I did tell you I was selfish._

_Away comes the thumb, but you'll be too busy focusing on the sensation of my fingers twisting inside you, brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. Don't worry, my thumb is still there, just a hairsbreadth away, far enough to keep you right on the edge. Like I said, sweet girl, you come when I say so._

_Terrible, isn't it? Being brought to the cusp of orgasm and being held there...knowing that all you need to toe you over the edge is literally a nudge of my thumb, another twist of the fingers still buried knuckle-deep in your pussy. Maybe I'll let you come. Or maybe I'll leave you dangling on a precarious perch, revelling in the way you continue to wring your hands, indulging in the tempting curve of your delicate back each time you try to arch further into my touch._

_Do you have dimples in your lower back? If you do, I confess that it might break my resolve just a bit. I never could resist a well-shaped back with dimples. Just for a second I would have to run my tongue over each one, before paying homage to the sweep of your spine._

_I know you want to come; you need that orgasm so badly that you can nearly taste it. I feel you shaking like a leaf against me. Hurts, doesn't it? It feels as if your insides are one big knot, that tension growing tighter and tighter, while all you can focus on is the throbbing sensation that has rendered you nearly senseless. I'm sure by now your cunt feels like the only thing that matters; never mind the rest of your body, not those pretty feet or soft thighs or even your wrists._

_But I have something to tell you, and I know you are not going to like this: I don't want you to come. I'm not going to let you, at least, not yet. I want you to remember this feeling. I want this notion firmly planted in your mind, rooted so deeply that you will never forget:_

_If sex, fucking, shagging, lovemaking—whatever you want to call it—doesn't make you feel like the way you should be, and are hopefully feeling right now, then you have been doing it with the wrong person._

_Alas, my bed summons me. Perhaps we will speak again in the near future."_

_xx_

_"THAT'S IT?!"_ Hermione bellowed when she got to the end of the note. Her blood was racing like a car in gear with a brick left on its accelerator, and between her legs felt unbelievably hot and heavy. And all from a fucking note! And the rude bastard had the nerve to stop there, claiming the need for sleep?

Whoever he was, Hermione vowed to make him pay.

But first...she had to rub one out.

There was no way that she would be able to sleep without having some sort of relief, even if it came by her own hand, no pun intended.

Duchess yowled dispassionately at having been shooed off Hermione's bed and out the room. Thankfully, she sought slumber in another part of the house and didn't stay to scratch at the door, demanding to be re-admitted. Hermione reckoned she could have masturbated with her cat in the room—she was that worked up, but refused to risk the chance of Duchess walking across the top of head just before she was about to come. The cat did have awful timing, it seemed with everything, and right now Hermione was not in the mood.

Rushing to yank her shirt off her body and then hastily stepping out of her knickers, Hermione lay across her bed, face down on her stomach with her right hand between her legs. Had she ever been so wet before? She couldn't remember, although the answer was mostly likely no.

After a bit of manoeuvring and finding that lying on her stomach was too difficult, she flipped over onto her back, burying two fingers within her while keeping her thumb against her highly-sensitised clitoris. The awkward angling didn't help with consistent movements, but using her other hand to pluck at erect nipples while moving the other hand to the best of her ability, Hermione imagined the nameless, faceless man drawing her over his lap, spanking her arse and rubbing her pussy until she was a writhing, shuddering mess.

Which she literally became at the moment; the fantasy was enough to send her careening over the edge after a minute or two, and Hermione climaxed hard enough that her trembling body made her headboard thump loudly against the wall. The blood was still pounding fiercely in her ears as she came down, and she drew in a few staggering breaths. Limbs heavy and her body feeling completely sated for the moment, Hermione fell into a deep sleep before she was able to pull her limp hand away from her crotch.


	2. Chapter 2

"Care to tell me why you look as if you've been sucking on a lemon all weekend?" Mina asked Hermione that following Monday morning at work. "What happened, did the batteries on your vibrator give out?"

Hermione looked up from her desk fast enough to give herself whiplash. Mina hadn't been expecting the small pot of hand crème that Hermione kept nearby to come flying in her direction, and yelped when it struck her in the forehead.

"What you do that for?!"

"That was my attempt at beating some sense into your head," Hermione replied dismissively. "But something tells me one time won't be enough; I think I have a packet of paracetamol I can throw next."

"All right! I'll behave," Mina laughed, ducking behind her cheer and exaggeratedly peeking over the top. "But seriously, everything alright? You seem a little...tense."

Hermione gave a wry laugh as she flipped through the stack of post that had just been delivered to the office. Tense was probably the right word for how she looked. All day Saturday, she had been unable to get her conversation with the salacious stranger she'd met on Magk out of her head. Dithering between logging online to see if he was around, while the other half of her brain warned her against doing so, Hermione found herself on the computer sometime around seven that evening. She had gone with the pretence of 'I'm not waiting around for him', keeping the Magk window minimised while she trawled through a fashion website that sold witches' robes, as well as their interpretation of Muggle clothing.

A frilly lace blouse paired with a long, ruffled satin skirt, was being purported as something that a Muggle woman would wear when something casual was called for, such as grocery shopping or running other errands. The fact that the outfit was being displayed with a pair of black combat boots with four inch heels might have been cause for Hermione's brow to furrow, while asking herself who was behind the website. Yet she had been distracted with distracting herself, trying not to focus on the unlit area of Mufty's homepage which indicated that he was not online.

She had waited until nearly midnight to see if he would turn up, and when the box remained unlit, Hermione dragged herself to bed, knowing that it wouldn't do to show up at her parents' house the next day in a funk. By Sunday afternoon, her mood hadn't improved much, although she feigned cheerfulness, knowing that her mum would immediately sense her change in attitude and hone in like an eagle swooping down on its prey. Mrs. Granger still managed to see past her daughter's facade, and asked three times if she was feeling alright. Mr. Granger, being himself, was oblivious to everything, and merely asked Hermione trivial things, such as the offer of more wine or to please pass the potatoes. Oh, and for help with his mobile, which had been tucked into the front pocket of his button-down shirt.

"I'm always tense," Hermione finally told Mina, who was at her own desk and surprisingly working on a report for Shacklebolt. "Tense is my middle name."

"No, really?" Mina replied mockingly, pursing her lips. "I thought you had a stick permanently affixed up your arse."

Just as Hermione was about to offer a scathing remark, Kingsley walked out of his office and past their desks. There was an aggravated look on his face, and he was clearly in a hurry.

"Hmm, looks like someone's late for their meeting," Mina mused, tilting her head and curiously eyeing the back of the Minister as he shuffled out the door in a flurry of purple robes. Once the sight of his shiny bald head had popped out of view, she added, "He moves bloody fast for someone so tall."

"You know what else he's doing to do fast if you don't settle down and finish your work?" Hermione asked as she stood up from her own desk and smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt, "Make you redundant and find a more productive replacement. Be right back, I'm popping to the loo."

Mina replied with one of her usual sarcastic remarks, which went ignored by Hermione. The two cups of tea Hermione poured down her throat that morning, which had been consumed mostly to keep her eyes open, and also because she'd been on edge, finally made their way down to her bladder. At the end of her walk to the ladies she began running and nearly knocked over a goblin wearing a waistcoat in her haste. "Sorry!" she yelped in mortification before darting into the bathroom.

The walk back to the office was less hurried now that she had relieved herself. On her way, a wizard that vaguely resembled someone she used to know, a person that she never became personally familiar with for a multitude of reasons. This person was definitely not the wizard she had in mind, however, not unless he had taken to wearing posh trainers that looked as if they came from an expensive Muggle shop. Then there was the issue of the t-shirt that bore the name of some band Hermione had never heard of. But the long black hair that constantly fell into the wizard's eyes, which he kept brushing back with one hand, inadvertently displaying a prominent nose...yes, he definitely looked like a young Severus Snape.

Severus Snape.

It had been some time since Hermione thought about the old headmaster of Hogwarts. Snape had stayed on staff for another two years after the war ended. McGonagall then acted in his place until a replacement was found, a younger witch from the school board.

The  _Daily Prophet_ ran a small piece when Snape retired, but after that, no further mention had been given of the reclusive wizard. He seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, because hide nor stringy black hair of his had been seen since then. Ron suggested that the professor had most likely finally turned into his true Animagus form, an evil black bat, to do what he planned all along, which was cackle wildly while flapping off into the sunset.

Hermione hadn't thought that was funny, especially since they all thought the worse of Snape throughout their entire time at school. Of course, he  _had_ been a bit of a bastard, but Hermione wasn't one to hold a grudge. It wouldn't get her anywhere, and she didn't see the point.

Offhandedly, Hermione began wondering what had come of the professor. Was he living in the wizarding world? Was he even still living in Great Britain?

Shacklebolt most likely knew of the former professor's whereabouts. There was a chance McGonagall knew as well, but Hermione was aware that Snape was still a touchy subject when it came to more than a few people. Anyway, it didn't matter if she found out where Snape had disappeared to. If there was the slightest chance that they would speak, the most he would probably do was offer some pithy remark. Severus Snape did possess the ability to be polite; Hermione had witnessed that a handful of times when he attended meetings for the Order when everyone was gathered at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Even so, while his lips might have uttered the most courteous of niceties, it was his dry manner that made his every word akin to an insult.

Briefly, Hermione asked herself why she was giving so much thought to her former teacher. She had a better chance of going back to Ron and becoming the next Mrs. Weasley than of laying eyes on Severus Snape.

_Besides, you have more important matters to tend to, like that mountain of reports that you didn't get to finish last Friday._

Thoughts of paperwork was enough to put Severus out of her mind and send Hermione scampering down the length of the corridor.

* * *

Thursday rolled around, and Hermione still hadn't spoken to her nameless, faceless gentleman friend she'd met on Magk. For two days in a row, she had done the whole pretending-I'm-not-waiting-by-the-computer thing. The third day, she only waited for fifteen minutes, before deciding to turn in for bed. The next morning, she resigned herself to the fact that her steamy conversation with the salacious stranger was most likely a one-off, and to not expect to hear from him again.

Not that it had done anything to stifle her racing libido whenever she thought about the scenario that he'd painted too perfectly by way of keyboard. It also didn't help that Mina insisted on telling her about some new position she and her beau had read about; she referred to it as the Reclining Lotus and claimed that it was even better when a pillow was placed beneath your hips.

When Mina began going into great detail about how the position was excellent because David managed to easily stimulate her clit with his thumb while they fucked, her exact words, Hermione was thanking every deity known to her the current inhabitants of their office were two elderly wizards, one of whom was taking a nap at his desk. The other wizard was most likely doing a walk about of the Ministry grounds, which he tended to do between the hours of eleven and one. Kingsley had his own private office, but still hadn't returned from his meeting. Thank the gods, because Hermione would have died of mortification if he were to overhear his colleague's less-than-appropriate work conversation.

"Mina, can't you and the tales of your sexual escapades wait until the weekend?!" Hermione hissed.

"Why?" Mina asked incredulously. "Who do you expect to hear me say 'clitoris', Golvokin?" She looked over at the white-haired wizard in question, who had just let out a loud snore. "You know he's not going to wake up till lunchtime. His trousers could catch fire and it wouldn't be enough to make him open his eyes."

"Mina—"

"Listen to this. Oi! Oi, Golvy! Golvy Golvokin! Guess what, I got shagged till my brains leaked out my ear this weekend. Did you hear me, Golvy? Do you even remember where a woman's clitoris is, you great snoring lump? Did you know where it was to begin with? Or did your wife need to Conjure a torch and mirror so you could find it?"

"Gods, you're horrible!" Hermione bellowed, caught between amusement and horror." Do you kiss your mum with that mouth?"

"Where do you think I learned it from?" Mina replied smugly, shrugging her shoulders.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Mina decided that she was no longer going to torment her friend, and actually stayed at her desk, although she bothered Hermione a few times to borrow a quill, and then some ink.

When Hermione returned home, Duchess greeted her at the door, meowing loudly and weaving her furry little body around her ankles.

"I know, you're ready to eat," Hermione told the animal, gently nudging her out the way with her toe so she could hang up her coat. "You'd rub up on anyone that would feed you."

After going through the rigmarole of dinner and a bath, Hermione sat in front of her computer with the sole aim of checking her email before bed. It wasn't as if she was expecting to hear from a certain person—that would have been absurd.

Of course, life was funny. When you wanted something, it never came. When you least expected it, there it was. Thus Hermione was shocked to the bones when she took a chance by logging into Magk, and finding that red dot flashing in the corner of her inbox.

_**User5482:** _ _"Good afternoon, or evening, depending on the time you find this message. I do hope I haven't scared you off?"_

_"Scared_  isn't the word I would use, Mister 5482," Hermione muttered to the screen. The unreasonable part of her felt like doing a little happy dance because the man hadn't forgotten about her. The cynical part of her reared its ugly head, pointing out that it was sad for her to get her knickers wet over some person she had never met and would most likely never meet.

 _Who asked you?_ she retorted to the pessimistic half of her conscience, while poising her fingers over the keyboard, fervently trying to come up with a reply that didn't sound too desperate.

_-Good evening. Scared? Quite the opposite, if I may be so blunt. Although after our last conversation, I confess to wondering if I would ever hear from you again._

Hermione dithered about, rereading her note a few times and thinking if she should leave it as is.

"Damn. I hope that doesn't sound too bad. Man is liable to think that I'll try to Apparate to wherever he is right now."

_"If you wanted to speak to me, all you had to do was send a message. I thought it was clear that I'm not particularly bothered with pretence and convention? Say what you like; do what you like. I promise that it will not be held against you."_

That response made Hermione arch an eyebrow. This was definitely a first; in her experience most people wanted to observe propriety, even if their heart was not in it. Her one-off with the man she'd met on holiday; for someone that was keen on having a one-night stand, he turned out to be a bit stuffy, even for her tastes. The idea of talking to someone where she didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing, or Merlin forbid, letting out the desires and fantasies that she tried to keep latent for the most part, sounded like a refreshing change.

_-Do you really mean that? Does that mean I can talk about anything, even how I seriously considered strangling my co-worker today?_

The mental image of her hands wrapped around Mina's throat was cause for Hermione to chuckle to herself. Surely it was bad form to become amused by a thought so macabre, but Hermione really had felt her patience stretch thin when Mina began conversing about things that were meant to be discussed in a more intimate setting.

_"If you feel the need to discuss a witless colleague, by all means, carry on. What happened that you were sent to such paroxysms of violence?"_

That message made Hermione laugh outright.

_-She began talking about things one wouldn't normally talk about whilst in public. I'm no prude, but I do try to behave with decorum. She even began yelling at an old, deaf wizard nearby about her clitoris, although he was kipping at his desk and didn't notice a thing._

Talking about Mina and her antics definitely made Hermione feel idiotic. But Mufty did say that she could talk about whatever she wanted, hadn't he?

_"You definitely work with an interesting group. I am curious, though; why was she talking about her clitoris?'_

That made Hermione pause. Finally, she replied:

_-She was telling me about a new position she and her boyfriend tried; it's called the Reclining Lotus. Apparently it's some move from a book based on Kama Sutra. Heard of it?_

_"Heard of it, haven't had the chance to use it. Yet I do remember hearing good things about 'The Nirvana'; did your friend mention that one?"_

_-No...she didn't. Care to expound?_

_"I see. It's touted to do wonders for your clitoris, although I know of quite a few positions that would allow me to inadvertently caress that little nub. Forgive me for pointing this out, 'BookLovr', but you seem to be ill-advised on most fronts when it comes to sex. Pray tell, why is that?"_

Hermione couldn't help the sudden feeling of disconcertedness that came over her. She thought she had been doing a great job of not letting her inexperience show.

_-I suppose because I've only had one boyfriend and one lover, the latter being a one-time thing that happened while I was on holiday. And if I may be frank, both of them were about as titillating as watching Quidditch. Well, for me, that is. I've never really cared for Quidditch, although watching the matches did give me more of a thrill than I anticipated. I was sure that everyone was going to fall off their broomsticks and break their necks. I had a few friends that played and I was always twitchy until the match was over._

_"I'm inclined to respectfully disagree with you on the point of Quidditch, as I'm rather fond of it, but I digress. Just two lovers? Interesting. However, let me leave you with this: you could have slept with two-hundred wizards and still ended up feeling as if you wasted an entire evening. It's not the quantity, but the quality. Sex isn't something that's meant to be rushed. Now I've not slept with any men, but the consensus seems to be that many merely rut until they get off, only to fall asleep afterwards. If I were a woman, I supposed I'd be cross as well."_

That shared bit of knowledge was interesting. Mufty's next message came before Hermione was able to reply to the last one.

_"Humour me, my poor, deprived soul. Hmm, perhaps humour is a poor choice of word, as I see nothing humorous about your abysmal sex life. Anyway, I would like to know what these encounters entailed. Don't feel as if you need to leave anything out, I'd like to hear it all."_

Now that was definitely a first—Ron, nor the older gentleman, had bothered to ask Hermione what she preferred.

_-Well...as far as positions, there wasn't much experimentation on that front. It was mostly him on top, to the side, and me on top a few times. Once we tried him behind me while I kneeled on all fours, but I didn't like it much. It felt like he was trying to ram through my stomach._

_"From behind...buggering?"_

_-Gods no. This is my first boyfriend I'm talking about. He was my first and I was his, but when I tell you he nearly buggered that up...no way in hell was I going to let him near my arse._

Hermione shuddered as memories of that day came back to mind. Upon first seeing Ron's bared erection, she understood why there were so many Weasleys running about. If the Weasley men were all built alike, a thought which disturbed her at the time, because she viewed Ron's siblings akin to older, annoying brothers—then becoming further traumatised by the brief thought of his Dad's most likely well-endowed dangly bits— then it was no wonder as to the reason for Mrs. Weasley remaining so smitten with her husband after many years of marriage.

Yet when it came down to business, it was apparent that an over-enthusiastic virgin and a skittish one that found it difficult to relax was a bad combination. Whoever said that losing your virginity felt like nothing more than a quick pinch had lied. It burned like the rings of hell when Ron's hips snapped forward. After what felt like an eternity, Hermione had finally gotten used to his clumsy thrusts when his body shuddered viciously before collapsing on her, nearly knocking all the wind from her lungs. In spite of their cliché horrible first time, the sex had gotten marginally better, but remained absent of those toe-curling, eye-crossing orgasms that Hermione had read about. In a fit of madness, which is what Hermione called it, Ron had suggested they try anal sex. He had been turned down without her even giving his idea a second thought.

_"That is a shame,' Mufty replied. "Leave it to these young lads to ruin a good thing."_

His 'young lads' remark was enough to prompt another of Hermione's never-ending questions.

_-The way you speak...it's obvious you've seen a thing or two. But I'm curious—how old are you?_

_"Tempted I am to tell you 'old enough' and leave it at that, but something tells me you'll nag until you get a proper answer. Is late forties satisfactory enough? While we're on the topic of age, allow me to ask you the same. And remember that the rules of polite society don't hold here, so don't feed me any tripe about ladies not telling their age."_

Hermione snorted back laughter as she typed her reply.

_-Late twenties, since we're not giving exact numbers. Is that good enough?_

_"For now. So long as you're of age, it's all right with me. Now I'm doing a bit of crude maths, but I figure there's at least fifteen or so years between us. Does that not bother you?"_

"Heh, if you only knew," Hermione smirked, thinking of her older lover, who had been fourteen years her senior.

_-The second man I told you about, he was older than me at the time. So, no, it doesn't bother me._

_"Ah, yes, the holiday cock. And that less-than-fortuitous happenstance?"_

_-OK, I'm assuming you've heard a Mandrake cry before, or at least are familiar with the plant. Well, imagine a Mandrake being put under Cruciatus. Do you know how hard it is to get off with someone squawking like that into your ear? Not to mention the difficulty posed in trying to keep a straight face._

_"I shall take your word for it. Although, now I'm curious; I wonder what you sound like whilst being lost to the throes of passion. Deep, guttural moans? Sweet, breathless sighs? Or perhaps a variation of the two, depending on the circumstances."_

_-I...actually have no idea. I never really paid attention to what I sound like during sex. I wonder if that's a bad thing._

_"Ordinarily I would say no, as it meant that you were so wrapped up in things that you were unable to notice. However, the little I can glean by talking to you this long, tells me that at the time your mind was focused on separate matters. If that is the case, and neither of your illustrious partners noticed, you have my sympathies."_

Hermione laughed so loudly from the last sentence that she made Duchess, who was slithering her way in between the crack of the open bedroom door, nearly jump out of her white coat.

"Sorry, Duchess!" Hermione apologised to the kitty. Duchess stared at her for a minute, as if deciding whether or not to hang around. Evidently her mistress had been forgiven, because the feline then jumped up onto Hermione's computer desk and stretched alongside the keyboard, as if saying, 'You've had your fun, but computer time is over. Now give me your undivided attention'.

"Alright, now you're just being naughty," Hermione groaned, picking up the cat and moving her back down to the floor. Duchess' paws had best resting directly atop the number keys, and the inbox where Hermione had been formulating her next reply read 00000000000000000000000000900000000000.

"Mrrow!" came the affronted cry from next to Hermione's foot.

"No, you stay down there," Hermione told her cat. "Can't you see that I'm talking to a nice man? Well, of course you can't see, as he's on the computer and God knows where, but even so—"

_Shut up, Hermione, before you meet death by being too overly-literal. And let's not even mention the fact that you're being pedantic with a cat; Mina had a good point when she said that you were well on your way to becoming a cat lady by the age of thirty. What's next, humming to yourself while standing in the queue at Tesco's, with rollers in your hair and slippers on your feet?_

_-Sorry. My cat decided to lay herself across my keyboard, Hermione responded once she had deleted the series of zeros typed across the small inbox on her screen. -Yes, my track record with men has been somewhat lacklustre. I think our conversation from last Friday is the most titillating thing I've experienced thus far, if I'm being honest._

_"Happy to leave a lasting impression. And tell your cat to bugger off."_

_-Lasting impression is an understatement; the pretend imagery was enough to burn a hole into my brain. No nookie in what feels like forever and then getting all worked up? That night is something I will never forget. Duchess (that's my cat) is currently glaring at me because I made her get down. Do you have any pets to order you about?'_

Hitting the send button, Hermione glanced down to see the time in the bottom right corner of her screen. She should have been in bed at least thirty minutes ago. Yet it was worth staying up later than usual to chat with Mystery Man, even if she would most likely regret losing sleep by the morning.

_"If one can consider the vermin that skulks round my bins here at night, trying to find scraps of food to gorge on, then yes, I nearly have a menagerie. I should extend an invitation to your cat to come entertain herself with the mice; perhaps I'd be on Duchess' good side."_

_-It would take far less than that, let me tell you. She's loyal to whoever fills her food dish, but woe to you if you move too slowly. I bet you didn't know that cats can actually appear scathing._

_"Oh, I am well aware of the proclivities of felines, which is why I do not have one. But I'm not rudely keeping you up at this ungodly hour to talk about your cat...well...not the four-legged sort."_

That made Hermione snort. How this man could utter such filth to her, while at the same time not putting her off, making her laugh instead, was a mystery. She wasn't used to speaking baldly herself, but wasn't adverse to it. Even so, the words in her head that began formulating a reply made her blush slightly.

_-What do you want to know about my pussy...cat?_

_"I would take greater pleasure in finding out firsthand, but I do wonder what your pussy looks like; shaven clean and smooth as silk? Or is there a thatch of curls to tickle my nose when I kiss you? Might you have a clitoris that rides high enough to poke out, requiring nothing more for me to lift your skirts and take down your knickers? If so, two fingers would be all I need to spread your folds a bit, exposing that pretty pearl. I could lick it while you're still standing, but I promise to not let you fall should your legs go wobbly._

_Hmm, unless, that little bud is hidden, in which case I shall bade you to sit in front of me with your lovely thighs parted, allowing me to see it all, employing lips, tongue, and fingers to search out your flesh._

_How do you like to be touched? Do you prefer to have your clitoris lapped at as if it were a rich, decadent pudding? Or do you prefer to longer licks that begin at your rosebud and move up the length of your pussy, leaving it slick with saliva? I'd like to know what position you prefer to be eaten: on all fours, back arched and exposing the sweet juices running down your quim? Or perhaps you might enjoy riding my tongue, my hands massaging your arse as you writhe against my mouth, your thighs clenching and relaxing with each stroke until you finally explode, bathing my chin with your sweet essence._

_Tell me, would you fall to the side, chest heaving and limbs trembling like a young woman that was just given her first proper sexual experience? Or would you assume the role of a succubus, continuing to straddle my face, wriggling your hips and rubbing your little pussy against my lips, groaning like the wanton vixen while desperately chasing that feeling until you break apart time and time again? How many orgasms would it take until you finally capitulate? Two? Three? Six?"_

The idea of being licked to orgasm made Hermione's core clench. She had yet to have that particular experience, and was coming precariously close to asking Mystery Man if he wanted to meet right then. For all she knew Mufty could have been the next Jack The Ripper, using his gift of gab to lure in unsuspecting young women, then eventually meeting them and hacking their bodies into pieces and leaving the leftovers bits in a canal.

_Bollocks; if you truly thought he was a murderer, would you still be chatting with him so casually?_

_Honestly...yes, if he kept talking the way he's been all along._

_Hermione, you really need to get laid. And to not talk to yourself, or at least don't let anyone else hear you do it._

_-I'm still here. I actually think I need a fag after reading that, and I don't even smoke._

_"I fear I may have dove into things too prematurely. I left out all the other things I would do to the rest of your delectable body."_

_-I'd much rather you show me._

No sooner than Hermione hurriedly typed out her reply and hit send, did she realise her sentence. Had she just propositioned someone that she barely knew?

_Dumb bint; you're in for it now! She chided herself. Now I bet he's going to turn into some creepy perv stalker that you'll never be able to give the slip to even though you've not met. Are you daft, or are you daft?_

Hermione waited on tenterhooks for Mufty's reply. When it finally popped into her inbox, she almost pulled the mouse cord completely free from the computer as she rushed to click the open tab.

_"Either you're foolishly trusting or I've made a very good impression. Either way, I feel inclined to tell you that if we were to meet in the future, rest assured, no harm would fall to you. I don't fancy the idea of Azkaban or even a Muggle prison for that matter, just in case you were worried about me being some reclusive psychotic killer. If I were to wrap my hands around your neck, it would be gently, and only to steer your mouth towards my cock."_

Hermione was floored by the smooth shift in conversation; it went from sensual to creepy to sensual once again. Giving head had never been something she looked forward to. For her, it was akin to a dry chore, which she put no real enthusiasm behind. But for this stranger...she felt positively enthralled by the idea of her kneeling between his legs, one arm curled around his thighs while her other hand and mouth worked over his raging erection.

_-I've been called foolishly trusting before, but I think at this point I've been successful for the most part in picking out the crazy. Anyway, I'm glad to hear that you are not some reclusive psychotic killer, although I admit to having Jack The Ripper immediately come to mind._

_Now if you don't mind telling me more about your hand on my neck...that sounds intriguing, and much better than you fisting my hair from its roots and shoving your cock down my throat. Yes, I'm speaking from experience. A trying one that left my shirt wet and head sore._

_"Really, what sort of men have you been consorting with? Not to sound overly cocksure, but I think when comparing myself to those other two...well, even I might be a better selection._

_Would it ease your mind to know that I would never, as you put, 'shove my cock down your throat'? Nay; I prefer a touch that starts off light and ends with fervour. I wouldn't even take my cock out completely; I'd leave it poking out through the slit in my trousers, just to see what you'd make of it. The idea of your pouty lips slowly engulfing the tip...a hint of pink tongue darting out to capture that little bead of nectar sitting at the end. I know you're disagreeable to the idea of having your hair pulled roughly—not that I blame you—but would you settle for having it stroked softly while you suck me off? What if I caress the back of your neck, or run my fingers over the curve of your cheek? I've found that gentle touches are a much more effective manner of encouragement, instead of harsh, adolescent groping._

_Something to think about?_

_I won't keep you awake any longer; it would be a shame to deprive you of sleep and being responsible for you maiming your co-worker tomorrow because of an ill-natured mood. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."_

_xx_

Mystery Man had a point. If she did not go to sleep within the next few minutes, Mina or someone else would bear the brunt of her grouchiness in the morning. Again, Hermione was hot and bothered from her previous conversation, but was too tired to even consider getting herself off.

Oh well. There was always mental masturbation, which Hermione occupied herself with as she drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

"You look...different," Harry told Hermione as they waited for their lunch to arrive.

"Yeah, like you've been dipped into faerie dust or something," Fred offered, fiddling with his cutlery. "Unless you were sneaking under your desk at work and hitting the bottle. What's going on, Hermione? Shacklebolt working you that hard where you need to go on the piss during the day?"

Mina had been feeling poorly at work the day before. The office was oddly silent without her usual quips riddled with inappropriate humour, and when she dutifully remained tethered to her desk, sluggishly making her way through a stack of files on her desk, Hermione immediately knew something was wrong. Kingsley had been on his way in the office from another meeting, which the Minister described as tedious, when he caught sight of the lethargic witch. Just as he began asking if she was all right, Mina's face literally turned green and she nearly tipped out her chair in an effort to grab the bin from beneath her desk. Once she finished retching into it, Hermione discreetly vanished its contents with a flick of her wand. After dealing with Dark wizards and the like, a bit of sick was nothing for Kingsley to get skittish over. Instead, he plucked a handkerchief from his pocket, handing it to Mina while suggesting that she take the rest of the day off, and to stay home until she felt better.

The following day, with Mina gone, Hermione had been able to get more work done than usual, even going so far as to handle some of her friend's share. Yet by lunchtime, she found herself with a bit of extra time on her hands. She had been in the middle of figuring out where to go for the hour when Harry swept into the office, offering to take her and her loud girlfriend to lunch. Once Hermione explained that Mina was out for the week, she noticed that her best friend appeared slightly crestfallen.

Upon first meeting Harry, the brash witch had no qualms with announcing that he was dishy, clearly enjoying the reddening of his ears. Every time Mina saw him after that, she would bat her eyelashes and played the role of a love-starved flirt, which would have been scary if she were serious.

On their walk out of the Ministry, Harry explained that they were going to meet their brother-in-law at the restaurant. Hermione groaned at that title, and explained that Fred was more Harry's brother-in-law than he was to her.

As expected, the mirthful redhead began his usual routine soon as they found him inside the restaurant.

"Be quiet, Fred," Hermione now snapped, lowering her face to hide her glowing cheeks. She knew the reason for her shift in attitude; it had nothing to do with Kingsley or her workload, but she wasn't about to offer any details.

"C'mon, Hermione," Fred continued. "Who's the poor sod that you've been keeping up all night? And why haven't you brought him round yet?"

"Harry, why did you bring him and not George?" Hermione lamented, glaring at the source of her consternation. If only Fred knew how correct he was, even if in a roundabout sort of way...

"Georgie claimed he had an appointment with some highflier that wants to invest in our shop, but what I think is he was actually trying to give me the slip and meet with his new lady friend, the one he thinks I don't know about," Fred chortled. "Say, you two haven't been skulking round, have you?"

It was plain that Fred was joking, yet didn't keep Hermione from squealing in disgust.

"Gods, no! Besides that being irreprehensible because of Ron, it would be like kissing my brother. No thank you," she told him, wrinkling her nose.

"Incestuous chat aside," Harry chimed in, "even if I had invited George instead of Fred, they both still share that sick mind. Do you really think it would be any different?"

Hermione looked at Fred, who was grinning cheekily at her.

"Not a chance," he offered, winking. "So, Hermione, you gonna tell us who you've been meeting the beasts with two backs with, or...?"

Hermione kicked Fred beneath the table, causing him to yelp and Harry to laugh. A minute later, the waiter appeared with their order, and the sight of food was enough to make everyone forget about Fred's crude question. Well, Fred and Harry forgot once they had their mouths full of chips and perfectly battered cod. Hermione, on the other hand, was still reflecting on the reason for the sudden glow that Fred had been unable to resist calling attention to.

She still didn't know anything about Mystery Man: not his name, occupation, or where he lived. Axe murderer was still ruled out, but fact remained, it could have been anyone on the other end of the computer. But it was undeniable: whoever he was, he was responsible for the fire rushing through her veins on a consistent basis, not to mention her constantly dampened knickers whenever they spoke, and that one tantalising dream that unfortunately occurred just once.

Hermione had been unable to see the man's face in her dream, but he had a voice that felt like silk slipping over her skin as he crooned the filthiest, most unimaginable things into her ear while his fingers roamed the length of her body. No matter how much she'd begged him to go lower, he refused, and his fingers continued spanning across her abdomen, straying low enough to graze the top of the curls covering her sex.

Mentally rehashing her dream went on for so long that Hermione almost forgot about her meal. Unbeknownst to her, she was also biting on her bottom lip and had a faraway look in her eyes. Hermione daydreamed for so long that she didn't realise Fred had been calling her name for the past five minutes.

"What?"

"Are you going to eat before it gets cold?" asked Harry, gesturing to her most likely lukewarm food. "And Fred wanted to know if we should get dessert after this."

Hermione arched at a brow at the two, then picking up her fork. "How are you already thinking about sweets when we've only just got here?"

"Oh, we've been here long enough," Fred sniggered, looking down at his and Harry's half-empty plates. "I guess you became a bit preoccupied with fulfilling another appetite."

"If you plan on fulfilling your own appetite which you're indelicately hinting at ever again, then you should shut your mouth right now," Hermione threatened, gesturing to his lower body with a flicker of her eyes. "Eventually Angelina might forgive me."

"Now that's just not right, threatening a bloke's livelihood," Harry cringed, shaking his head.

The soft scraping of fork and knife moving against Hermione's plate filled in the brief silence as she smiled beatifically at both wizards.

"Whatever it takes to keep you both honest," she offered sweetly. "I suppose I stay out later if we go for pudding; Kingsley said that I didn't have to hurry back. Although, something tells me you'll be rolling me back to the office."

At that comment, Fred held out both hands with his palms facing Hermione, as if ready to commence the rolling.

"Overly literal idiot," she mumbled, shoving the last bit of her lunch into her mouth.

Ninety minutes later, Harry decided to remember that he was an Auror who was still on duty. After parting ways with Fred, he and Hermione walked arm in arm to one of the many secret places spread throughout the city that allowed witches and wizards admittance to the Ministry.

"So are you going to tell me who this person is?" asked Harry as they waited for the lift.

"Who what person is?"

"You know who I mean. This person that has you looking five years younger."

"Gee, thanks, Harry."

"I didn't mean it like that! Damn, now I wish I'd kept my mouth shut."

"Don't hurt yourself," Hermione told him just as the lift arrived. Even though her office was on the first level, she told Harry that she would see him all the way to his, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was on level two. "Alright, fine. Yes, I've met someone but we've not actually met, and don't you judge me, either."

Harry's brows furrowed together. "How the hell are you two so chummy if you've never actually met one another?"

Hermione let out a sigh. "You're lucky there's no one else on this lift, because I would be too embarrassed to say otherwise. Mina signed me up for this website and we've been chatting online. By the way, thank you for keeping Mr. Weasley in check and from flooding my inbox."

"Don't remind me," said Harry, shaking his head. "Ginny and I dropped hint after hint that we were trying to be alone, but Mr. Weasley refused to leave the flat. He left only after Gin threatened to put him on punishment for a week and not let him come over if he didn't go right then. I'm sort of surprised he hasn't tried to build a computer in his shed."

Hermione stifled a laugh at the thought of Ginny chastising her father. She and Harry were now off the lift, walking down the corridor towards the office that Hermione had often frequented when she and Ron were dating. As they moved closer, it was apparent that Hermione had grown apprehensive.

"Oh, come on," Harry urged, seeing the look on her face. "Ron isn't in; he and Neville had some special assignment and they're going to be out all day. It's just me, Tonks, and Pritchard."

Hermione remained looking dubious but still kept walking with Harry.

"Who's Pritchard?"

Harry stopped in front of the door, peering in through the glass and focusing on something, or someone.

"That's Pritchard," he told Hermione, pulling her to stand in front of him while pointing to another wizard, who was sitting at a desk while a purple-haired Tonks stood over him, jabbering away about something.

Hermione nodded, taking in the long black hair and a different band t-shirt that wasn't dissimilar to Tonks'. Both looked out of place, as if they belonged in some rock band instead of working as Aurors.

"I think I saw him the other day," she murmured, moving away from the door so she wouldn't be caught peeking in. "He's new, right? Because I think I'd notice anyone that looked like—"

"Snape, right?" Harry cut in. "We all said the same thing. He'd be a dead ringer for a younger, more cheerful Snape, minus the whole creepy  _'Mister Potter'_ thing or just  _ **POTTER!**_  if he was extra brassed off, right before assigning me six months of detention, just so he'd have someone to skin caterpillars and do his Potions grunt work."

"You know, I was just thinking about him the other day," Hermione told him, peering through the glass once more.

"Pritchard?" was Harry's dim reply. "What the hell were you thinking about him for?"

"No, you pillock. Snape! I was wondering what happened to him. He sort of vanished into thin air, it seems."

"Yeah, well, the old tosser's still alive," Harry grumbled. "I forget who had correspondence with him last, and it was apparent that Snape wants to be left alone, but he's definitely still kicking and breathing. And snarling, from what I understand was the overall tone of that returned letter."

"Nice to see that you've laid old grudges to rest," Hermione commented, looking up to see Ron and Neville heading their way. "So much for them being out of the office all day," she muttered under her breath, furtively nodding in their direction. "Doesn't matter, seeing as I need to get back. Thanks for lunch, Harry. I'll see you later."

While her and Ron's breakup had been mutual for the most part, it was still a bit awkward seeing him at work. Even though it had never been blatantly discussed, at least, not to her face, people knew that she and Ron had formerly dated. The cause of their break up hadn't been discussed, but it was clear that some felt mildly uncomfortable with the situation. One person was Neville Longbottom, who worked alongside Ron and Harry as an Auror. Hermione reasoned that Neville felt guilty about being friends with both parties involved in the breakup. A few times Hermione had to remind Neville that he didn't have to pick a side or the like, because she and Ron were on friendly terms. That seemed to relax him a bit, even if he was still a little wary. Now Hermione greeted Ron and Neville as she walked past them. Neville smile bashfully, while Ron gave a small wave, more interested in what she guessed was his lunch, as he was shoving what looked like a bit of sandwich into his mouth.

Hermione had one last thought as she made her way back to the lifts; it was pointless to feel off-kilter around Ronald. Short of the world coming to an end, there would be nothing to get in the way of him and food.

* * *

About a month had gone by that Hermione was still speaking off and on to her new friend. His true identity still remained a mystery, although she did learn that he resided within Great Britain, and as fate would have it, only an hour or so away from her. His name hadn't been divulged, nor would Hermione tell hers, but they did exchange initials. Hermione used her middle, J for Jean, and Mystery Man gave his as T.

That weekend, she had been ready to climb the walls out of sheer boredom. Everyone was either away or preoccupied. Popping out to the shops for a few necessities that Saturday morning, Hermione had returned home, only to linger in her bedroom for most of the day. It was unconventional for her to take a bath so early, but she did anyway, reasoning that she had nowhere to go. The rest of her afternoon was spent lounging about in pair of pyjamas, her usual ratty set replaced with a satiny affair that had been purchased a long time ago with Ronald in mind. The one and only night she wore it had been for naught, as he was more interested in getting her undressed.

By four o'clock Hermione was in bed, a knitted throw tucked around her legs and Duchess curled up next to her. The room was almost quiet, save for the pages of her book being turned and raindrops pelting against the windows. Even though Hermione had initially been weary of her unglamorous Saturday, it was days like so that she cherished being single. For her, rainy days were a time for quiet and relaxation, two things that her former beau had been adamantly against. Ron enjoyed having a lie in, as did Hermione, but he was also fond of waking her up by way of thrusting his morning erection against her backside. Being woken up for lacklustre sex was not her idea of fun: she always ended up sticky and lying in the wet spot, all for Ron to roll over and go back to sleep. For what it had been worth, Hermione preferred sleep to sex. At least one of the two was always sure to be satisfying.

Now, with a day like so, it might have been nice to wile the hours away with a male companion. 'T' seemed like he would be a suitable candidate. She remembered him telling her that he immensely enjoyed reading, thus she surmised that he would bear no complaints when she kept her own nose buried in a book. Thinking about 'T' again, Hermione wondered if she had any new messages from him. The very last he'd sent had been from exactly one week ago. In her initial message before his reply that day, Hermione asked what he was doing. As always, his thorough answer left her hot and bothered...

_"I keep thinking about how you would look lying beneath me, your hair tangled round your face, your limbs strewn about atop my duvet like rose petals... Wondering what your lips taste like, the back of your neck, the underside of each breast... Then there's the matter of oft overlooked places... your ankles, the back of your knee, the insides of your knees, the pulse point on each wrist... I long to watch your face as I press my lips to each area, tasting the sweetness of your skin, the tanginess of your sweat. I would try to find that little heartbeat of your racing pulse with the tip of my tongue, lapping at it just like I would to your quim. I'm imagining the way you'll moan or sigh for my touch, if you'll bite your lip to stifle your cries or let them ring freely when I sneak my fingers along your inner thighs, moving higher and higher until they're firmly embedded within your body. How many strokes would it take before your hips rolled and your belly quivered? How long before your trembling walls squeeze my fingers, your body's reactions giving you away seconds before your moans do? How long before that ever-winding coil of tension at your centre breaks? How long before you give in completely to an orgasm so strong that it leaves you wrung out and fisting the sheets?_

_Perhaps if the Fates deem it suitable, I will one day be able to personally find out."_

_-T_

Seven was the number of times Hermione had read that message so far, and that was only counting today. She nearly had every word committed to memory, which had been accompanied by a mental image of 'T' doing each lascivious thing to her that he'd mentioned. The idea alone had her in a heightened state of arousal, one that refused to be abated by masturbation. And it wasn't as if she hadn't tried, because had the Goddess of Lust been present in her bedroom, she would have suggested that Hermione slow down before she hurt herself. Those three consecutive orgasms—one by hand, two by toy—had been akin to slapping a plaster on a deep wound. Besides, she needed to do more than just get off: she wanted a warm body covering hers. She wanted to be kissed and touched while being screwed into the bed sheets. Post-coital cuddles weren't a bad idea, either. With Ron, she might have done the cliché 'roll over in his arms' thing, but his skin had been so clammy that it put her off, and she had mostly kept to her side of the bed.

Hermione found that she had become increasingly curious as to how she and 'T' would fare during a little round of slap and tickle. Would he live up to all of the tempting messages he sent her? Or would she end up facing more disappointment? Regardless, even if things didn't pan out in that aspect, perhaps she could keep him as an acquaintance of sorts. 'T' was an excellent conversationalist, and or so he seemed from their emails.

She wanted to meet him— that much stood out in her mind. But deep down, that ugly Doubt Monster kept rearing its head, suggesting that she would be mad to go off and meet up with a man who was essentially a stranger. Then again, wasn't everyone a stranger until you got to know them? Mina hadn't known David before but things were working out well for the two. Perhaps she would take suggestions from the well-lived witch, who was familiar with arranging this sort of thing.

Which is what Hermione did an hour later.

"Hello, Mina?" she said she heard a groggy voice at the other end of the telephone. "Don't tell me you've been sleeping all day!"

"No," Mina answered, her sleep-roughened voice suddenly becoming higher. "I believe the word is 'afterglow' for what you're hearing. But we did fall asleep."

"Why did I say anything?"

"No idea, because you know I never bite my tongue." Her laugh was ominous and Hermione made a small scoffing sound. "Anyway, you never call me when I'm with David so the world must be coming to an end. What's up?"

"Remember when I told you about the man I've been talking to online for the past few weeks?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, I'm going to meet him."

There was a moment of shuffling in the background, followed by Mina giggling.

"David, stop. Stop! I'm going to send you to the corner if you don't behave. Sorry, Hermione, you were saying? Right, you're going to meet Mystery Man. So have you two decided where to meet?"

"Not exactly..." Hermione trailed off. "We haven't made plans. Actually, I've not yet asked him if he even wants to meet, but that's sort of why I'm calling you. I figure if we do meet one another that it should be in some public place, right?"

"Exactly. You want to meet in a place that is busy but not so busy that you can't hear one another when you speak. And it's best if you take a friend with you, sort of like an insurance policy."

"Come again?" asked Hermione, trying to figure out what the hell her friend meant.

"It's like this, Hermione. Say you go to meet this bloke and you find out he's some creep that's the sort to collect all of his toenail clippings from his entire life and keep them in a bin bag in his closet. I don't think you'd be keen to finish out a date with him."

Hermione cringed. "Did you meet someone who kept all of his toenail clippings in a bin liner?"

"Yeah, and you don't want to know what else he collected, but that's a story for another day."

"You know, I think I can do without that story."

"Good idea, because it'll put you off eating for the rest of your life," Mina groaned. "As I was saying, you should take a friend with you to wherever you and this bloke meet. If the date goes well, excuse yourself and have your friend meet you by the loo. You tell them that you're going to stay, and they can leave or go wherever. If the date is going badly, you've got an excuse to leave and you can hightail it in the opposite direction. Sound good?"

"Yeah, I guess," Hermione murmured, trying to wrap her brain around this entire unorthodox dating operation. "Merlin, never did I think I would have to play Auror just to date!"

"Would you rather not play Auror as you call it, only for us to have to call Aurors when you've gone missing?"

"Hmm, I guess you have a point."

"I know I do," Mina replied loftily. "Now let me know when you have things sorted with your maybe soon-to-be new boyfriend. All you need do is give me the time and place and I'll show up."

"Will do," Hermione promised, "and thank you. Now I'll let you go so you and David can finish whatever it is you're doing that I've been pretending to ignore this entire conversation."

 _"Thank you, Hermione!"_ shouted a masculine voice in the background.

Hermione laughed. "You're welcome, David! Mina, thanks again. I'll chat with you later."

After hanging up and letting the cordless drop down onto the bed, Hermione remained in place, absentmindedly stroking Duchess, who had just crawled into her lap, while thinking about the best way to approach T.

"Should I even bother, Duchess?" Hermione asked, looking down at her cat. "What would you do it you were me?"

A lazy swish of the feline's tail told her nothing. Or it could have meant that Duchess was telling her to do whatever she wanted, email the man or not, so long as she continued stroking her back.

"I'm going to ask him if he wants to meet for lunch. Or dinner? Yes, that sounds better. Lunch sounds too casual."

_All right, dotty woman; are you talking to yourself or your cat? For your sake, please answer 'cat', because if it's yourself, then you have definitely gone funny in the head._

There was another swish of Duchess' tail against her arm, this one with more force. The cat seemed to be picking up on Hermione's internal battle, because she suddenly rose on her hind legs, placing her paws on her mistress's chest.

"Either this means you want to be fed, or you're telling me to shut up because I'm thinking too loudly."

Hermione lowered her head, and was amused when Duchess placed one paw against her lips.

"That can mean both, but I'll take it as a 'shut up and email him'," she laughed. "Fine, Duchess. You win."

_"Mrrow!"_

* * *

A few days passed and Hermione still hadn't received a response from 'T'. All sorts of things went through her mind. She told herself that she had annoyed him by asking, and perhaps not replying to her email was his way of saying their liaison had ended. While Hermione told herself that she was foolish for being disappointed, the sting was hard to ignore. Mina immediately picked up on the sudden change in her friend's attitude. It took a bit of wheedling, and finally over lunch, Hermione told her about sending the message and never getting a reply.

"Yeah, but you're looking at this all wrong," Mina had pointed out. "Didn't you say before that there were times when you two would speak, and more than a few days would pass by before you spoke again? Perhaps he's busy with work or something. Because you two have been chatting for quite some time, and I don't think he'd just up and ignore you. But even if that's the case, it's not the end of the world."

Hermione was inclined to agree with Mina, but after a fortnight, her message had still not been replied to, and she lost all hope.

There was no longer any reason to log into Magk. She didn't want to chat with a new person, and checking her consistently empty inbox folder to see if it contained new messages just made her feel like a silly goose. Thursday night, she had been giving serious thought to completely deleting her profile, when she noticed a little red top at the corner of her inbox.

Heart leaping into her throat, Hermione saw that the message was from T. One of two things were going to happen, she was sure of: he was either accepting her invitation, or he was turning her down. Not knowing was worse, and she rushed to open the email.

In the beginning of the message, T apologised for his tardy reply, stating that he had been away on business and had no access to the internet. His excuse sounded feasible, considering that they both lived in the wizarding world. Then, to Hermione's relief, he suggested that they meet at one of his favourite restaurants in China Town on Saturday. The place was near Leicester Square, next to a pub on Leicester Street. Hermione was quite familiar with the restaurant and that made her feel slightly less anxious.

T had been unable to stay online that evening, but gave the rest of the details Hermione would need for their meeting. The next day at work, Hermione told Mina about the email, earning a dismissive, "What did I tell you?"

Saturday afternoon, Hermione had been in the middle of staring into her closet, trying to pick out a suitable first date outfit when someone rang her doorbell. Mina was all business once Hermione answered, rushing in and explaining that she had her 'bag of tricks' with her. Mina's bag of tricks was a blue wheelie bag with an extendable handle that allowed its owner to roll it around.

Hermione had been shoved into her bedroom and pushed down into a chair. Her chagrin grew when Mina withdrew bottle after bottle of potions and lotions that came from various Muggle shops, some of them also from a boutique in Diagon Alley.

Upon complaining about seeing no reason for all the fuss, Hermione had been told by Mina to "shut and read your sodding book before I get out my wand and change your hair into tarty blonde". In the end, she left her friend have her way. Besides, it had been sort of relaxing to sit back and receive a manicure and facial. Mina also thought it necessary for her to have varnish on her toes, but Hermione made no fuss since she was the one to apply it.

Now Hermione was standing on the pavement, trying to pretend that she wasn't nervous. A gust of the evening air cause the deep blue skirt of her dress to flutter, sending a chill right through the thin material of her tights. Mina had gone off to meet David but promised to return at seven-thirty, which was half hour after Hermione was due to meet T. The plan was that Mina would find Hermione and the gentleman, and ask to be seated within close proximity. 'T' hadn't exactly given Hermione a full physical description of himself, so she didn't know whether to look for a tall or short man, or someone with brown or blond hair. Actually, he hadn't give any description at all. But he did say that he would be seated upstairs in the back of the restaurant, reading a book. He didn't say which book, but it wasn't as if Hermione ran across many people who dined alone with their nose buried between the pages of a book. (Actually, it was something that was like her, and something that she had done on multiple occasions, but it didn't count.)

Hermione stood outside of the glass front restaurant for another five minutes before willing herself to go inside. She was greeted by the owner, a warm, elderly gentleman, who politely waved her on when she explained that she was meeting someone.

Why 'T' had chosen this specific restaurant was a bit of a surprise; it was quite bright and brash, and more functional than anything. That bit she hadn't minded; she wouldn't have to spend a weeks' wages on a meal. Every worn, wooden table was covered with paper table covers, and on top were paper serviettes, chopsticks, and refillable soy sauce bottles tucked between salt and pepper shakers. The chairs were padded but old, yet looked quite sturdy. Surely the boozers wandered in time to time from the pub next door, in need of sustenance. If they were to fall, it was best if the chair broke their fall, instead of the hard and unyielding cream-tiled floor.

Holding her breath while her hand gripped the banister, Hermione slowly made her way upstairs. The top level of the restaurant was carpeted and had a few private tables, which were cut off from the busy area by an ornately decorated black screen. This was to be her and T's designated meeting place.

'T' wasn't by the screen. Looking to the front, Hermione inhaled sharply when she saw a man tucked into a corner, both elbows on the table and a glass of water set between them. As promised, his book was present, but 'T' held it directly in front of his face and all she could see were two long-fingered, pale hands clutched around the spine.

Oh hell— this was nerve-wracking. The closer Hermione walked, the more she was able to see... the top of a jet-black head of hair, and the rigid posture of a man who appeared to have a pole shoved down his back.

"Hello?" she greeted cautiously after approaching the table.

The book was slowly lowered, revealing a stoic face that slowly adopted an expression of utter befuddlement at her presence.


	4. Chapter 4

_"J?"_

_"T?"_

'T' snapped his book shut and set it down with a soft thump.

"I suppose this evening has already met its end now that you've put a face to the name."

Hermione realised that she had been rudely gawking, and pressed her face into a more dignified expression.

"Well, now, there's no need to be hasty," she replied lightly, slipping out of her coat and draping it round the back of her chair. "I must say, this  _is_  a surprise, but not exactly unpleasant. After all, it was, err, a few words that had me captivated before I had a physical appearance to go by. So why would I up and leave now?"

"Let me see," he replied, extending one hand to tick off each of his points. "Shall I start before, during, or post war?"

Right then, a waiter came over to hand them menus. Hermione accepted hers with a smile, her dinner companion accepting his with a bit of gruff.

"If you feel the need to walk down memory lane again, by all means. I won't stop you," Hermione stated, flipping open her menu and peering down at it. "But one charm of the past is just that—it's the past. To be frank, I'm more interested in this delicious looking noodle dish. I've always said I would try it but never did, mostly because I have a bad habit of always ordering the same thing. Have you ever tried this?"

She held up her menu to her partner and pointed to the dish in question. His brows knitted together as he scrutinised the tiny print next to her scarlet painted nail.

"No, I haven't," he admitted reluctantly, "but I suppose there's a first time for everything."

"There is...isn't there," Hermione murmured, hoping the unintentional double entendre was not lost on him.

Once their orders had been placed and the starters set down, part of which included a couple of beers, the two sat in awkward silence. Their beer had been served still in its can with a glass set over the top, and Hermione began methodically dismantling everything. Two black eyes were intently focused on the pale, fizzy liquid being poured into the glass, never leaving even as she took a long drag and set the glass back down.

"So...Severus," she began, hesitantly. "Do you mind if I call you by your first name?"

"Not at all," he replied with a small nod, eyes downcast as he now poured his own drink. "Hermione."

She smiled at that. "You're looking well."

"As opposed to...?"

"Before," she answered simply. It wasn't exactly polite to point out how the man used to have a wraithlike appearance. He was still pale as the white paper serviette beneath his fingertips, and it was hard to tell if he was still rail-thin, but the lines of stress that once creased his mouth and forehead seemed to have completely vanished.

Picking up her beer to take another pull, Hermione tried to figure out why a man who had no problem uttering the dirtiest, most sinfully delicious things to her on the internet was now having trouble with looking her directly in the eye. Severus Snape appeared more interested in his beer...the menu...even the bottle of soy sauce to his right. Well, if he was going to avoid her, she could use the opportunity to further appraise him.

Severus' face was definitely not gaunt as it had been before, but there was suddenly a bit of colour staining his cheeks. His hair was still the same, if not a bit longer, and she credited him for not having one hint of grey. Whatever he did, Hermione made a mental note to ask for tips, as she had begun seeing a few streaks since twenty-five.

OK, enough was enough. She was getting fed up with watching Severus looking at something over her shoulder, the wall, anywhere except her face. He never had a problem staring her down when they were at Hogwarts!

 _You ninny; he's probably embarrassed because of those things he said to you, not knowing that you were his former student!_ Hermione reminded herself.

Now it was her turn to feel ashamed. Perhaps he had been expecting someone else—someone that was definitely not an ex-pupil.

"I'm sorry if you were disappointed," Hermione apologised. "It's clear that you're uncomfortable with this. Since I suggested that we meet, I'll pay for dinner and then we can part ways and never speak of this day again."

Severus' eyes met hers; somehow he managed to look offended and sheepish at the same time.

"I believe it's safe to say that only one of us is disappointed," he replied. "I admit that surprised is a better description of what I'm experiencing, but disappointment is not one of them."

"Oh! Well..."

"Would you still like to cut our evening short?"

"I'm not disappointed, and what I would like is to continue this evening," Hermione stated firmly, before Severus had the chance to protest. "Especially since I'm spending it with a man who left me with a gaped mouth and my stomach filled with fiery little butterflies, all by use of a few words. Sorry, my analogies are rubbish, but hopefully it gives you an idea of what I mean."

Severus gave a noncommittal hum, but at least he no longer looked as if he was ready to jump up from the table and run screaming into the night.

"You know, you have a twin that works at the Ministry," Hermione added casually, trying to bring levity to the conversation. Her lips curved into a smile as she thought about the wizard she just mentioned. "The only difference is he's about fifteen years younger, wears t-shirts with bands on them that I've never heard of, and has a penchant for £90 trainers. Oh, and he and Tonks are friends."

"Who in their right mind would pay that much for a bit of rubber and cloth?" Severus muttered, visibly relaxing as he folded both hands and placed them down on the table. "Figures this odd young man would cling to the first nutter he sees; I'm surprised that clumsy witch still has her head attached."

Surreptitiously taking in Severus' appearance again, Hermione noted that he still retained his penchant for wearing all black; black jacket, a black overcoat folded on the chair next to him, and what she was sure were black trousers hidden beneath the table. A hint of a crisp, snowy white collar was the only thing peeking out from his jacket. It was odd not seeing him in his buttoned up attire or wizard's robes, but it wasn't as if one could roam a Muggle area without calling attention to oneself while wearing such garments.

Little did Hermione know that she had already been given the once over, and that was before she made it to the table. Severus had peeked from around his book to hone in on the shapely feminine form, which was mostly concealed by a beige trench coat yet displayed a flash of blue whenever she moved. He had watched closely as the young woman searchingly scanned the area. The back of her head told of an attempt that had been made to calm a riot of curls, yet the springy tresses managed to escape the clutches of a gold hair clasp at the nape of her neck. When the woman finally turned around and revealed her face, Severus had been floored to see none other than Hermione Granger. She looked nearly the same as she had the last time he'd seen her. Truthfully speaking, she was more than just easy on the eyes, a fact Severus was able to admit to himself without feeling like a lecher now that she was no longer an underage swotty thorn-in-his-side.

At first, Severus panicked inwardly. He thought about fleeing, but Apparating with a loud pop right out of the restaurant would cause some consternation among the wait staff. By the time he began formulating another plan while hiding behind his book, Hermione had walked right up on him.

"So I'm curious—"

"You, curious?" Severus interrupted dryly with a snort. "Impossible."

"Ha ha," Hermione mocked, even though her brown eyes shone with amusement. "What made you choose this place?"

Severus arched an eyebrow. "I was so sure you were going to ask me how I'd managed to land on a website dedicated to helping lonely people meet for bouts of casual sex."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Magk is for more than just that," she protested. "It's for people to meet so they can—"

"Shag. Have a one-off. Fuck with no strings attached."

There was something about the way the word 'fuck' rolled around his tongue and dripped from thin yet perfectly shaped lips that made Hermione's insides clench. Not to mention that he was smirking at her, as if visions of acting out that very word with her was running through his mind.

"All right, I guess you have a point," Hermione laughed, forcing herself to focus. "But I'm still curious as to what made you choose this restaurant. It's sort of a funny coincidence; I've come in here more times than I can count. But mostly for takeaway when I didn't feel like cooking."

"Seems as though we both have that in common," Severus confided, looking away from her to glance around the dining room. "This is actually my first time sitting down to eat; usually I pick up my food and return home. The old man downstairs thinks he's funny, asked me if I ever cooked and did I know my way around the supermarket. Then he said never mind, that my many visits would singularly help to keep his business afloat and I could order takeaway whenever I wanted."

"We both have that in common. He once pulled out a few notes and told me to take it for groceries," Hermione reminisced, shaking her head. "I suppose I've been here one too many times for takeaway. But in my defence, after a long work week and I cannot be arsed to heat up and choke down more leftovers. I don't know how he does it; can't remember your name to save his life but he'll remember your face, as well as the last time he saw you."

"Yes, and he'll remind you of your last visit," Severus continued. "I suppose I could have chosen another restaurant where we'd have to put on airs and graces just to get in the front door, but the food is never nearly as good. Not unless you enjoy a piece of chicken that's big as a Snitch. Now that I think about it, a Snitch might be easier to chew."

"I've been to one of those restaurants with my parents. Let me tell you, the waiters there know how to pour in on. But the food was crap and while the puddings looked good...let's just say the smashed packet of biscuits that my friend found in her desk one morning tasted better."

"How appetising."

"Hey, crumbled teacakes were better than that tasteless chocolate gateau. How you ruin a chocolate gateau is beyond me, but, what can you do. But since you brought it up, just how did you come to get on Magk?"

"Would you believe me if I say that it was not intentional?" he asked in between sips of beer.

"...maybe?"

Hermione half-expected him to take offence; Severus did just the opposite and gave her another smirk.

"It's true," he replied, reaching across the table to pick up Hermione's beer can. Refilling her glass, and then his from his own can, Severus seemed to be carefully choosing his words. "You were the first and only I've engaged with on Magk. It was purely by accident that I'd stumbled onto there, but after digging around a bit, I found some most intriguing photographs..."

"You found the nude section," Hermione grimaced, thinking back to the many things she'd seen which cannot be unseen. One was a penis that resembled a wonky courgette, and the world didn't have enough bleach for her to scrub her eyes of the image. "Found and lingered."

"I never claimed to be a saint," Severus told her, sounding unrepentant. "I have eyes, the pictures were there. If they weren't meant to be seen, then their owners would have never displayed them. Not that any of the photographs were anything to write home about. By the way, I believe the young lady sitting over there has been trying to get your attention for the past fifteen minutes."

Severus gave a small nod. Frowning, Hermione peered over her shoulder to find a dark-haired witch and her male companion sitting across the dining room. Mina was blatantly staring in Hermione and Severus' direction, but didn't appear remotely abashed at having been caught. Instead, she smoothly turned back around and resumed her conversation with David.

"A deftly executed move," Severus murmured. "Was she to be your escape plan in case 'T' happened to be the bogeyman?"

Hermione bit her lip to stifle a laugh. "Something like that. Will you excuse me for a moment? I need to..."

"Powder your nose?" he finished euphemistically for her, his lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. "By all means, take your time."

Hermione smiled apologetically and rose from the table. The Ladies was downstairs and seconds after dashing inside, the door reopened and closed.

"So, what's the plan?" Mina asked, leaning over the basin to peer in the mirror. "Do we need to play your knight in shining armour? Or do things seem promising?"

"I think we can skip the theatrics for tonight," Hermione replied, watching Mina fiddling with her curls. "To be honest, I'm a bit shocked because I know him."

Mina turned away from the mirror. "What? How?"

"He used to be my professor."

The perplexed look on Mina's face rapidly switched into one of knowing, and her grin was far too wide for Hermione's comfort.

"I  _knew_ you looked comfortable over there, like you wanted to launch yourself across the table and sit on his lap. He was your teacher? Wow." She began chortling. "Aren't you glad I made you shave your legs?"

"Mina!" Hermione snapped, now looking in the mirror herself and rearranging her hair clasp. "First off, I don't even know if he sees me that way, much less how he feels after finding out that who he's been talking to all this time has been his former irritating student. Secondly, we haven't seen one another in, let me think, nine or so years? Not to mention he'll think I'm a total slag if I go home with him after one date."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Mina exhaled, holding out a hand. "Listen, Little Miss Morals, if anything he'll think just the opposite, and that's before brushing the gathered dust off your bits. Besides, when have you ever backed down from anything?"

"This is...different."

"Like hell it is. Listen, I'm not telling you to take off your knickers and put them over his head, although if you do, you owe me for making you put on the good ones. But if your evening should come to that—and I hope so, because your vibrator wrote me and told me that he's knackered and is going on holiday just to get away from you—so be it."

Hermione opted to ignore that comment. Realising that she needed the bathroom for more than just sleuthing purposes, she slipped into a stall while Mina continued chattering away.

"I don't know what you're so particular for," her voice carried through the closed stall. "One date, one hundred dates, what does it matter? If you two do hit it off so well, eventually you'd get to it, yeah? So why wait?"

"Who even said I wanted to go that far?" Hermione grumbled, slipping out of the stall and walking to the sinks.

There went that damned knowing look reappearing on Mina's face. Hermione turned off the taps and dried her hands, but not before flicking a bit of water at her friend.

"OK, since we're feigning ignorance to that flicker of lust in your eyes," Mina replied after using the back of her hand to dry her cheek. "But I'll keep my wards lowered just in case you need to Apparate to my flat in the middle of the night. You know, in case your bloke turns out to be a freak that has a bin bag of toenail and hair clippings stashed away somewhere."

"Shut up, Mina."

"Ooh, even worse—what if it's a wheelie bin full of toenails?"

Hermione stalked out of the bathroom without another word, tuning out the sound of Mina's cackling.

"Everything all right?" Severus asked when she slipped back into her chair.

"Besides the fact that I'm going to seriously injure my friend?" Hermione replied, distractedly nibbling on the appetisers that had grown lukewarm. "Fine, everything's fine."

"Fine, even though you're plotting her demise?"

"In my defence, she warranted that."

"Sweet and unsuspecting on the outside, but still that long streak of vicious," Severus chuckled, plucking one of the prawn toasts from the plate between them and taking a small bite. "Care to divulge?"

"Had this been any other night, I'd say no," Hermione admitted, reaching for her beer, "but unconventional as this night is, I don't think playing coy will get me anywhere."

"I seem to remember once telling you that I'm not one to stand on formality."

"Yes, I know, but you must promise to not think poorly of me."

"You have my word, Hermione."

Hermione took a deep breath. "My  _friend,_  and I'm using that word lightly right now, seems to think that I want to leave with you. She also said I'd thank her later for making me shave my legs and for wearing frilly knickers."

Was she seeing things, or did his Adam's apple bob a little as he swallowed hard upon hearing that comment about her knickers? Nope...there was definitely a strange flicker in his eyes. Perhaps Mina had been onto something...

"How frilly are they?" he finally asked with just a hint of suggestiveness.

Oh, he was  _definitely_ flirting with her.

_Well, this is surreal._

"I think you might have to be the judge of that," Hermione replied before she could catch herself.

_And you are definitely flirting back._

"Does that mean you plan to show me?"

There was a monumental moment of dithering as Hermione pondered her answer. If she said no, then she might be missing out on what could turn out to be an intriguing night. That, she would surely regret. If she said yes, she risked the idea of giving Severus the wrong idea. Although, how much of a wrong idea could she give him considering their many licentious exchanges?

"If I agree, will you hold it against me?" asked Hermione cautiously.

"If you agree, I'll hold you against me. How does that sound?"

Hermione knew not where this sudden roguish side of Severus came from, but it was damn sure leaving her flustered. There was no way she could go home to her cold, lonely bed. Not with the way he was looking at her, as if able to see right through her dress. Ordinarily she would have been offended, but now? She felt as if his dark eyes were penetrating the knit material covering her breasts, going through her bra, and catching a full glimpse of her erect nipples.

"Have you finished?" Severus was now asking, gesturing to the dish of half-eaten starters, "or should we have our dinner wrapped up?"

Hermione looked down at the plate of prawn toasts, sighing when she remembered that their main dishes still hadn't been served. "To be honest, I don't think I can take another bite."

Severus seemed amused by that comment, most likely because he knew why Hermione was so frazzled. He drew no further attention to it; instead, he summoned a waiter and had their dinner packaged in takeaway containers. Once the bill had been settled, they both rose from the table. In a fit of chivalry, Severus helped her into her coat, before putting on his own. They had to pass the table Mina and David were sitting at, and Hermione purposely walked faster, trying to avoid her friend's gleaming eye.

Of course, the uncouth bint let out a sort of whoop as the two descended the stairs, one that Hermione clearly understood.

_I'm going to kill her. I swear, I'm going to_ _**kill** _ _her. But not tonight._

"Where are you taking me?" Hermione asked once she and Severus were standing on the pavement in front of the restaurant.

"Someplace where I can put your thighs over my shoulder, where no one can hear you scream," he replied evenly, shifting the bag containing their food to one hand while adjusting his black scarf around his neck. "And trust me, you'll be doing a lot of that."

Hermione shivered, yet knew it had nothing to do with the cool autumn air swirling about her exposed ankles.

"You sound rather sure," she murmured, slipping her arm through his when he held his out.

"I could be making it all up," Severus suggested, to which Hermione scoffed.

"You don't make things up," she balked. "It's sort of ironic; usually the cocksure ones are the ones who always fall short. How do I know that you are the sort to speak beguilingly of passion from a distance and then fail to deliver when given the chance?"

"And to think you just referred to me as cocky," he snorted. "I suppose you'll have to come with me to find out."

"You still haven't told me where we're going," Hermione pointed out. Between Severus' long legs and his fast gait, she had to put forth an effort to keep up with him. "It looks like we're headed towards the tube."

"Quite the opposite, Miss Gr—Hermione."

"Nice save."

"As I was saying, I hope you aren't opposed to Apparition?"

"So long as I don't have to get on a broomstick, I'm fine."

"You'll be riding something, just not a broomstick." That comment made her chest grow warm, and it lingered as Severus continued talking. "Still opposed to flying, I see."

"How do you know I don't like flying?"

"Pfft, really, Hermione," he scoffed. "Give me a bit of credit, at the very least."

Hermione tightened her hold on Severus' arms, enjoying the feel of his woollen coat beneath her fingertips. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea that she was going home with him for a night of... well, sex, she knew, but some niggling thought at the back of her mind kept gleefully pointing out that she might be for more. In any event, it was disconcerting yet not unpleasant to be so close to a man that had rearranged her brain in a rather unconventional manner.

It was a shame she couldn't tell what Severus was thinking; he was smoothly walking down the street as if he and Hermione had done so together on a regular basis, as if they were a steady couple that had gone out for the evening instead of just becoming reacquainted.

"Do you often take strange women home with you?" asked Hermione jovially, even though her question was partially serious.

"A better question would be 'do I often take women home', to which the answer is no," Severus told her. "You'd be the first, although the strange part still holds."

"Hey!" Hermione cried, lightly tugging on his arm. A quick look up at his face and she saw that Severus' lips were curved; he was goading her. "I'm not that strange."

"The lady protest too much."

"If I admit to being strange, will you tell me where we're going?" she bargained.

"My home in Kennington," Severus finally answered, staring down at Hermione to see if she had any objection. "I should warn you, it's nothing glamorous."

"If it's glamour you're looking for, then you should never visit my house," Hermione replied. "Besides the books I have strewn about, everything is a resting surface for Duchess. I should call it her house instead of mine."

"Oh yes, the feline that saw fit to drape herself across the keyboard in the middle of our conversation," Severus drawled. "I meant it when I said your familiar was welcome at my house. Right here should suffice."

Severus stopped walking. Hermione noticed they were standing in a dark, deserted area, away from the lampposts. She had minimal warning before his arm tightened round hers, and her stomach gave a lurch as they Apparated out of place.


	5. Chapter 5

"I will  _never_ get used to that!" Hermione groaned once they were at their destination. Wherever they were standing, it was definitely indoors. It was also pitch dark and she couldn't see a thing. "Flooing is better than that, even if you get soot up your arse and nose."

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Severus murmured. Their arms were still linked and Hermione heard a quiet rustle of fabric being moved. A second later, a few candles and a hearth flickered to life, and she saw Severus tucking his wand back into an inner pocket of his jacket. The gentle orange glow revealed where they were standing, which was the middle of a small but neat sitting room. It wasn't completely unlike hers; a sofa was in the centre of the room, before it a wooden coffee table, on top of which were a pile of books. A slightly worn leather armchair wasn't far, which Hermione guessed was Severus' usual sitting place, if the single book and rumpled throw left on top of the cushions were any indication.

"It's not that bad in here," Hermione murmured after looking around while Severus removed his overcoat and tossed it onto the armchair. "It's rather cosy."

"It's cosy in dim lighting but damned frightful in the bright of day," he countered. When he excused himself, going to where Hermione guessed was the kitchen to put their food way, she used the time to gander around. When he returned, he walked over and stopped in front of her, unfastening her coat. Apparently he didn't need direct light to see, because she was unrigged from the outer garment within seconds. Once her coat was resting on top of his on the armchair, he settled onto the sofa, staring at her through the soft glow.

"Now where are these knickers that your friend convinced you to wear?" His voice was nearly a purr and Hermione felt a shiver run down the length of her spine.

"Can you see from there?" she asked, still standing in the middle of the room.

"No; perhaps you should move closer."

It was akin to the spider inviting the fly into his lair. That was not enough to deter Hermione, and she walked forward until her legs were between Severus' splayed knees. Because she was standing in front of him, casting a shadow over his face, Hermione couldn't tell where specifically Severus was looking. It made her feel on edge for some reason. Perhaps he was looking at her thighs, because that was where his fingers tentatively touched, their tips skimming over the fabric of her dress.

For someone that had mentioned doing things to her, the likes of many of which she had never dreamt about, Hermione was surprised that Severus was so close-mouthed. Was this the same man that spoke about taking her over his lap and spanking her arse? Was this 'T' before her, who promised to finger her to the fine-edge cusp of orgasm? Or was this Severus Snape, the one person whose thoughts she could never decipher?

Within seconds, Hermione found out who she was standing before.

Severus' hands curled around her thighs and tugged her closer, effectively causing her to move down to the sofa to straddle his lap. The shift in positions hadn't been graceful at all, yet Hermione paid scant attention to that as his arm slid around her waist. Closer...closer she was drawn in, until his warm breath ghosted over her features. Just as she was prepared to lower her face to his, Severus lifted one hand between them and curved his palm over her cheek.

"Last chance to change your mind, lovely girl," he drawled, moving his lips close to hers.

The Dark Lord himself could have risen from the grave and tried to pry Hermione off Severus' lap, and she still wouldn't have budged. Not with that tempting bulge pressing below her, making itself known against her core, or the enticing sound of Severus' heavy breathing that was hard to ignore.

"You don't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting rid me at this point," Hermione murmured, slipping both arms around his neck.

Apparently, that was all the encouragement Severus needed, because Hermione suddenly felt a tight grip around her waist. Warm lips captured hers, kissing her so slowly, so deeply, that she felt it all the way down to her toes.

Perhaps it was bad timing, but Hermione never had been one who was able to rein in her thoughts.

"Why did you never talk about kissing me in our emails?" she asked accusingly, lightly thumping Severus on the shoulder with the heel of her hand.

"Maybe I wanted to leave something to the imagination on the off chance that we would actually meet," he purred, punctuating every other word with a kiss to various places on her face. On his last kiss, Severus' lips trailed a path along the soft skin of her throat.

"So you knew we would eventually meet?" asked Hermione, shivering when his teeth scraped lightly against some tender spot.

"I'm no soothsayer, but I did wish for it to happen," he admitted, a tinge of bashfulness on the tail end of his words.

"Are you sure you don't mind that it's me?" she queried, hoping that the answer would swing in her favour. While waiting for a response, she had taken to running her lips across the delicate bones in Severus' cheek, simultaneously twirling her fingers round in the hair at the back of his neck.

Seconds later, Hermione was told, rather, showed, just how much Severus minded. Long fingers carefully yet hastily snatched out the clip holding back her curls. The dull thump of it hitting the carpeted floor was ignored. Those same long fingers insinuated themselves into the roots of her hair, pulling her close for another kiss. A shocked squeal escaped Hermione's occupied mouth, although it soon changed into a low groan of desire. On a some deeper level, she subconsciously clung to what she had been so desperately seeking for the longest. On a conscious level, she was hyperaware of her body's aroused state. For a brief moment, Hermione felt as if she were having some sort of salacious, dreamlike experience; her hips undulated like never before, seeking to quell the fervent ache between her legs.

The very thing she had been missing all along, not knowing what that exact thing was, Hermione was sure she had found it, sitting astride Severus Snape's wiry thighs, clinging to his fully clothed form and practically dry-humping him.

"I want you see you," she told him without pretence, breaking off their kiss. "I want to see all of you." Sticking her fingers into the button spaces lining the front of his jacket, Hermione impatiently attempted to undress the wizard when a slim hand came down upon her own.

"No," Severus told her. "You first; I'm still waiting to see these knickers."

"Does it really make a difference?" asked Hermione impatiently. "You'll be snatching them off in the end, will it really matter what they look like?"

At that, Severus gave her a curious look.

"Yes, it makes a difference," he averred, urging Hermione to stand up. "Go ahead, Hermione. Undress for me. And take your time."

Hermione ungracefully moved to her feet.

"This is completely one-sided, you know," she complained lightly, stepping out of her shoes and nudging them to the side.

"I assure you, I don't mind," Severus told her with a wicked grin.

"Of course you don't," Hermione intoned in the same voice, reaching behind her to untie the sash of her wrap dress. Once it hung limply at her sides, she slipped the garment off both shoulders and shoved the material down to her waist. Never had she undressed for another before, and Hermione had no idea if she was doing things properly. Severus, however, seemed not to mind, because he had all but melted into the sofa, one arm slung casually over the curved back, and appeared completely enthralled with each bit of skin that became exposed.

Her tights were removed next, followed by her bra. Just as Hermione had been about to slip out of her knickers, she was stopped.

"Black lace."

"Black lace with cream edging," Hermione informed, to which Severus nodded his head.

"Yes, I see that," he amended. "Very nice."

It wasn't lost on her that she was almost naked before Severus, who was still completely dressed. For Merlin's sake, the man still wore his shoes. Perhaps it was intentional, with the main purpose of driving her mad. Eyes roving over Severus from head to toe, taking in the high collar of his jacket, down to the long sleeves which were not dissimilar to the black, woollen frock coat he wore like a body of armour back at Hogwarts, Hermione found that she was not discomfited because of their unequal footing, rather the fact that she wanted to see him fully and was unable to.

"Alright, you've had your go," she told Severus bossily, standing directly before him again and planting both bare feet between his."Now it's my turn."

Severus snorted. "Surely you don't think I'm going to have my fill of you with just my eyes?"

"I should hope not, not after I've come all this way," Hermione replied. "But don't think I'll be swayed that easily."

With that, she steadied herself on both knees, settling on Severus' lap. She wasn't shy about pressing her lips to his, doing so while grabbing onto his hair. Those kisses—damn him! They completely dismantled every coherent thought in her head, yet for the first time, Hermione found that she didn't quite care so much about being flustered to the point of confusion.

At first, his lips roved slowly against hers. Maybe he construed her trembling as a result of impatience, thus forcing her to move at a more languid pace. Yet when Hermione unleashed a moan that became lost to Severus' mouth, his fingers clenched tightly onto her hair, her waist, anywhere his hands touched, and his body jerked sharply against hers. The thin barrier of her knickers were no match for the solid erection beneath her, even if it was trapped in the confines of his trousers. As Severus groped her bare thighs, squeezing and caressing, Hermione was grateful for taking Mina's advice about shaving her legs.

"Oh, hell!" Hermione whispered in a fit of desperation, surging against Severus and slanting her head to the other side. "Do you know how many times I've thought of this? Well, something very similar to it, considering I didn't know who I was speaking to. But congratulations on an ace job of sending me off to bed every night with wet knickers. I think my vibrator is on its last legs because of you."

Severus' cock twitched against her inner thigh, and she reached down to grasp it gently through his trousers.

"I wondered what this would be like," Hermione murmured in between pressing more lazy kisses to the corner of his mouth while tracing her fingertips along the length of his erection. "What you look like...how you taste..."

"Keep that up and you'll learn firsthand sooner than later," Severus warned, even though his hand curved around Hermione's, encouraging her to grip him tighter.

"Sooner sounds nice."

Before he was able to stop her, she slid down to the floor and knelt between his feet. Considering that Severus had mostly taken the lead, Hermione was surprised when he allowed her to do as she wished.

This entire situation seemed ironic; even though Hermione was kneeling at Severus feet, she was the one who felt in complete control. Her hands glided over his knees, up his inner thighs, and stopped at his crotch. A little smile was affixed to her face whenever she felt his legs quiver against her side. What else could she make him do?

Hermione longed to find out.

Eager to the point of impatience, Hermione had to force herself to slow down, not wanting to appear like a novice as she reached for the placket of Severus' trousers. His hips lifted slightly to assist her in freeing his erection, although wickedness made her leave the rest of his body covered.

"It's...pretty," she told him speculatively, wrapping her hand around the warm, heavy length of flesh.

Severus had been having the damndest time with keeping his hips still; it was made worse when Hermione reached inside his trousers to withdraw en erection that had begun to feel painful ten minutes ago.

"Pretty?"

"Yes, pretty," Hermione firmly stated. "Or should I choose another adjective?"

"Hermione," Severus began calmly, although there was an involuntary thrust of his hips when her grasp tightened, "you have my prick in your hand with your lips very near. Do you really think I give a fuck about the words you use? You can refer to it as crooked as a dog's hind leg and I wouldn't care."

It wasn't very suave to laugh when holding someone's cock in your hand, doubly if there was a small dribble of clear fluid trickling from the tip and wetting your skin. Yet Hermione was unable to hold back that giggle, and she had to bite down on her lip.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her gaze swinging from the anxious look on Severus' face, down to his angry-tipped erection. "I'll try to behave myself."

"Actually, I'd prefer if you didn't," Severus hastily added, breathing heavily.

Hermione had to literally force her eyes away from the thing that set them apart, its sight which made her already warm body grow positively heated, to look up at Severus. He looked rather fetching, still completely dressed in his black casual suit except for that one place below the belt. His dark eyes were focused on hers, and his chest moved up and down in a way that suggested a difficult time taking in air. Clearly he was trying to control himself, but Hermione was having none of that. Not after all those weeks of mental foreplay that nearly drove her to the brink of madness.

Tenderly, she dragged her hand along the length of his prick, enraptured by the feel of the veins beneath her fingertips and the sight of the soft skin moving back and forth. That garnered a sharp gasp from the man, and his slender frame sank further into the sofa. Without warning, Hermione leaned her head forward and ran her tongue over the tip of Severus' cock, causing him to let out a long hiss.

Never did Hermione think she would gain pleasure by foisting it upon another. Yet as she continued sliding her lips and tongue along Severus' cock, the damper her knickers became until it felt like she had wet herself.

Hermione twirled her fingers into the coarse curls surrounding the base of his shaft; she literally rocked back and forth on her knees, slightly propelling herself forward with each down stroke of her mouth, humming with delight each time Severus' pleasure became audible.

"That's it, sweet girl, just like that," he crooned, bringing his arm down from the sofa to pet the side of her face, sometimes pushing through the curls atop her head. "You like the feel of me in your mouth, don't you?"

How was it that she was becoming turned on from giving a blowjob, while having her face caressed as if it were something fragile? And his words...she was definitely in trouble.

Severus' other pale, long-fingered hand gripped the fabric of his trousers covering his left thigh while his right hand continued stroking Hermione's cheek. His touch remained gentle, even though the lower half of his body was twisting and pushing up from the sofa, greedily clamouring for that wet, consuming heat.

The floor beneath Hermione was becoming uncomfortable against her knees, not to mention the draught that kept making itself known by brushing against her calves. However, none of it was enough to make her stop. The realisation that she literally and figuratively had Severus Snape in the palm of her hand—and mouth—had affected her, but it was not enough. She wanted to see him come apart; she wanted to hear him utter her name like a litany, like a curse. She wanted to taste his spunk and feel his limbs quiver and cock pulsate as he spent himself between her lips.

"Oh fuck," Severus groaned in a more ragged voice. "Keep going, Hermione, oh fu—!"

For a split second, purely from listening to Severus becoming undone, Hermione thought she was going to come right then and there, despite the fact that she had one hand wrapped around his saliva-slickened shaft and the other gripping it's base. Severus' last 'fuck' was abruptly cut off by a guttural moan as he lost control of his body, limbs trembling as his cock pulsed violently between her lips.

Hermione didn't notice that she had also been moaning until Severus went quiet, the tension gradually seeping from his form until he was lying limply and in a stupor. He looked and sounded completely fagged, as if he had been running for a long time.

When Severus finally opened his eyes, he peeked down to see Hermione still between his knees, smiling up impishly at him. Her fingers were running back and forth over his sensitive shaft, and it made him twitch slightly.

"I think you should let him rest," he told her in a husky voice, "that is, if you want to finish out this evening properly."

"Oh? Does that mean you'll be sending me home after this?" Hermione teased, giving his softening cock a small squeeze.

"With a mouth like that, you'd better damn well hope I don't keep you shackled to my best for the rest of your existence," Severus countered. Exhaling noisily, he shuffled around and righted his trousers up on his hips. "Now, to address this matter of give and take, I'll need you to join me up here."

Severus held out both hands, which Hermione took and pulled herself up with. Her legs were wobbly, as if she had been the one to just reach her peak.

"Right here," he directed, patting the top of his leg.

Silently, Hermione placed one knee on top of the sofa, bracing herself on both hands before bringing up the other leg. It took a moment of shuffling but finally she lay draped across Severus' thighs, her bum right beneath his hands.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, reaching down to smooth her curls to one side.

"Yes," Hermione answered honestly, folding her arms and resting her forehead against her hands. The seat of her knickers were drenched by now and sticking to her. Besides Severus nearly moaning her into climaxing, the anticipation of what he promised nearly had her delirious.

The smooth leather of the sofa was cool against her cheek. When Severus slipped one hand between her trembling thighs to push them slightly apart, the air felt cooler against her centre. But wherever his fingers touch, it felt as if acid had been poured directly onto her nerves.

Severus took his time caressing the length of her back, tracing his fingertips up and down the curve of her spine. His warm palm ghosted over her behind, moving lower to gently knead the fleshy area of her inner thigh. Each time his touch delved higher, Hermione was sure that he was going to either deliver a slap to her arse or stroke her cunt. To her surprise, Severus did neither, and she nearly growled in frustration. His fingers spent an inordinate amount of time moving over her back, neck, and shoulders, massaging out a residual bit of tension. By the time they stopped, Hermione felt completely weighted down.

"Lovely," she heard Severus murmur as his fingers toyed with the lace edging of her knickers. One digit had slipped under the elastic, sweeping beneath the swell of her arse. "Very lovely."

Just as she was about to say thank you, that same hand lifted and came down to swat her behind. Hermione was more shocked that anything; she hadn't been expecting it at that moment, and was surprised to find that it really didn't hurt. A few more swats were delivered, which Hermione bore dutifully. If she were being honest, having her arse spanked was just all right.

That was, until the tip of Severus' wand was inserted into either side of her knickers, causing the seams to split and the fabric to fall free.

"I'll mend them for you later," he promised, tugging the sodden length of material from beneath her.

Now she was completely naked, wearing nothing but a surprised look on her face that became lost into the leather sofa.

Two warm hands cupped her arse, kneading and fondling the fleshy orbs. They were pushed and pulled, spread apart and allowed to fall back into place. Hermione thought she ought to feel some modicum of shame when cool air brushed against her indecently exposed nether bits, but the reality was that she wanted more. With a moan and a greedy push of her hips against Severus' hands to let him know her wishes, Hermione all but groaned in despair when his touch remained on the side of feather-light. The insides of her thighs were tickled, fingertips catching a bit of dew that was trickling down her cleft.

There was more uncoordinated wriggling when Severus veered closer to her clitoris; a split second later, his fingers moved atop her clenched thighs.

"No you don't," he chided, noticing that Hermione was trying to move against his legs in a way that would garner friction upon her aching nub. "Relax your body."

"That's easier said than done," Hermione retorted, her words coming out muffled.

"Didn't I promise to have your little honey pot dripping onto my leg?" Severus commented behind her. "Filthy girl." Two fingers lightly circled her entrance before smoothly slipping inside. "I wager you'll soon leave my fingers soaked to the knuckle."

She hadn't been expecting that penetration, and Hermione made some incoherent sound as her back arched reflexively. Her hands clenched into tights fists as she tried to keep her body relaxed like Severus ordered. Try as she might to remain still, her walls had involuntarily tightened around the slowly twisting fingers, desperate to keep them in place. Soon as she began writhing against the pair of marauding digits, they were painfully withdrawn.

"I asked you to be still," Severus told her, swatting her arse once more, the slickness on his fingers causing a louder sound.

"Sorry," Hermione moaned breathlessly, although she did not feel remotely apologetic.

Severus used that opportunity to deliver another smack to her arse, then another, followed by another. Delicious blows fell upon her backside, her inner thighs, even her moist delta. There was a light slap delivered to the underside of her clitoris which made her howl, first in pleasure and then anguish when the blows moved away.

"You horrid man, go back!" Hermione beseeched, feeling as if she were going to fly apart.

Severus chuckled darkly.

"Go back where, here?" he asked, using a single finger to travel up her slit, "or here?"

Her outer labia was squeezed between thumb and forefinger, causing her stiffened clit to become trapped between the folds. Keeping them pinched together, Severus moved his hand side-to side, then up and down. Close to tears from being taunted, Hermione was ready to leap off Severus' lap and take charge when he moved his hand away from her pussy altogether. Holding her down by the small of her back, he continued with those sweet, torturous swats to her inner thighs, the very ones that caused a light vibration sensation in her middle. The constant thrumming indirectly stimulated Hermione's clitoris, which now felt engorged and nearly stiff as her nipples.

"Are you ever going to let me come?" Hermione whined, uncaring if she sounded petulant.

"Yes, when I want you to," Severus answered simply. "Just not like this; I want to feel that sweet cunt throb against my lips as I lick you until you come."

A sharp jolt tore through Hermione as she pictured Severus' head between her legs. If he wasn't careful, he would end up being pinned to the sofa while she sat on his face, riding his tongue into the land of bliss. Fortunate for him, he had other ideas. Helping Hermione off his lap, he shifted to the floor and pulled her down with him. The floor was usually cooler, but either the glowing hearth kept things warm, or Hermione's blood was racing so fast that she had no option but to stay warm.

"Will you please stop tormenting me?" Hermione begged, eagerly pressing her naked body against Severus as he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her nearer.

"Never," he promised, slithering between her legs and pressing her to lie flat on the carpet. "I plan on tormenting you for as long as you allow me," he purred, lowering his head for a kiss.

For the love of Circe and all that was holy; Hermione wasn't sure if she was going to survive this night. It was one thing to be teased and denied release, but to have Severus on top of her, his fully suited body pressed against hers, his woollen jacket scraping her stiff nipples while a second clothed erection pressing into the apex of her thighs...

"I wish you could see how you look lying beneath me," he whispered against her lips. "Flushed cheeks, hair all tangled, and I do believe you are a bit breathless."

"Yes, because you're trying to kill me!"

"I'll not deny that, but only in a different way than what you're speaking of."

Hermione became enthralled by another deep kiss, mewling in anticipation when Severus moved his moved from her lips to neck, suckling on the sensitive skin.

"Perhaps I'll relent early," he murmured against her breast, pausing to circle his tongue round each rosy crest, "just this once."

Curious as to what Severus was talking about, Hermione noticed that he was kneeling next to her head. Within a second his knees were on either side of her shoulder, and he was straddling her torso, leaving his head perfectly level with her navel. The ends of his soft black hair grazed her tummy as his mouth began there and moved lower. The curve of her hip... her trembling abdomen... the very top of her pelvis where the soft thatch of curls began—Severus glided his tongue over each area.

Then the unspeakable happened; that unreasonably sized nose of his burrowed into her pubic hair. Was he sniffing her? Yes. Did she mind? Hell no, especially if his mouth was going to move further south.

Hermione hadn't envisioned being pinned into place by Severus' lower half, but that was exactly what happened. His hands pushed her thighs apart, spreading her wide seconds before his mouth descended upon her moist flesh.

"Oh gods!" she screamed, thrashing beneath him when his tongue circled her clit.

Severus might have been chuckling at her outburst, but the blood rushing in Hermione's ears was too loud for her to hone in on anything else. Being kept on edge for so long made her extra sensitive, and although she had the urge to press her thighs together because his touch was almost too much, Hermione found that she was unable to. Severus' hands were strong as they held onto her quivering thighs and not likely to move any time soon.

It was marvellous being eaten out at this angle. It was marvellous being licked by someone who knew what the hell they were doing. But to have that long, wicked tongue roving over her slickened folds, those thin lips slowly capturing her twitching clitoris before letting it go with a small pop, all of it added up and coalesced into something so great Hermione was unable to put a finger on it. She felt completely wanton, spread eagle on the floor with Severus' entire mouth hotly pressed against her. Fingers, lips and tongue searched out every tender spot of her sex, licking, probing, and sucking. Her hips jerked and writhed, while her fingers held onto the back of Severus' legs in a white-knuckled grip.

It soon became apparent that Hermione had two options: either bite a hole into the bottom of her lip, or scream out until her voice was hoarse. Severus did say that he had taken her someplace where no one could hear her scream, hadn't he?

Thank the gods for that, because after another suck or two, perhaps a flicker of his tongue and one little rub with his fingertips into that extra-sensitive area within her at the top of her walls, and Hermione knew she would be wailing like a banshee.

"Oh gods, Severus!" Hermione babbled, digging her fingertips into his trouser-clad thighs. "Right...there... oh FUCK  _RIGHT THERE!"_

One finger slide down to circle round her tighter entrance, pressing lightly upon it before tapering off. Finally it slid inside her, its entrance made easy because of her slippery juices running down. The combination of two fingers in her quim, one in her arse, and Severus' relentless tongue lapping at her, caused her climax to build slowly, spike rapidly, and come crashing down like a tidal wave. A feral screech ripped from Hermione's lips, and she convulsed so fiercely that she might have pushed the wizard away had his grip on her not been so tenuous. Had Hermione been able to open her eyes, she would have noticed that her vision had gone blurry. And if not for the climax that nearly robbed her of all coherency, she might have felt the tears running from her eyes and back to her temples. It took longer than usual for her to come back to earth, and by the time she realised Severus was no longer hovering over her, his lips were upon hers, sharing with her the tangy salt of her release.

"Take me to bed," she pleaded after a while between kisses, her voice sounding croaky to her ears.

"You don't want to be taken on the floor?" Severus asked, biting lightly on her earlobe.

Hermione managed a weak laugh. "Perhaps later," she uttered. "But right now we need a bed."

She need say no more; the moment they both got to their feet, Severus swept her up into his arms and began carrying her through the rest of the darkened house. Up a small staircase, one right turn, and down a short hallway, and they were inside another unlit room.

The chance to fully take in the fact that her head was tucked securely against Severus' shoulder as he carried her like a small child came and went. At least she could never say that he hadn't swept her off her feet.

"I can't see you," she complained, stretching her limbs along the soft bed Severus had placed her down on, while trying to see where he was standing. "And what's taking you so long?"

"Would you like some light first, or for me to undress?" he drawled, although a few candles nearby flickered to life and illuminated his tall silhouette.

Severus was standing to the left, drinking in the sight of Hermione's lush nakedness draped across his duvet. He seemed to have lost all further notions for slow seduction; instead he had taken to pulling off his clothes at a rapid pace that blatantly broadcasted his intentions.

"Come here," he growled, hurrying onto the bed when the last article of clothing had been removed. Naked as Hermione and twice as enthusiastic, he grabbed the witch by her thighs and pulled her beneath him, tangling both hands into her hair and guiding her face to his.

There it was again, another one of those kisses she felt all over. How Severus managed to do that, maybe one day she would find out. By no means was it a kiss of finesse; his prominent nose bumped into hers and their teeth clacked together a few times. Regardless of those few graceless manoeuvres, the man hungrily kissed her as if he planned on never stopping. Then there was the feel of his masculine body against hers, his weight deliciously pressing her into the mattress. Wiry arms and legs were tangled with hers; even their toes, prompting a small round of footsie as they kissed.

"At the risk of sounding like a besotted youth," Severus began in a low voice, before brushing his lips across her forehead, burying his face into her curls and taking a deep whiff, "I should remind you that I am most certainly  _not_ disappointed to have you here with me."

"Do you really mean that?"

A rumble of laughter formed in his chest. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." His slender hips surged against Hermione, causing his coarse pubic hair and bobbing erection to press into the soft skin right below her navel. "Now, my tempting little supplicant, would you care to tell me why you're trembling? Is it from desire? A case of nerves? Or a little of each?"

Hermione had been in the middle of running her hands over Severus' slim chest, tracing along the ridged lines of his ribcage. Her hands were shaking; it was odd that she hadn't noticed. "Perhaps a bit of both," she murmured, gliding her fingertips down to his abdomen. "I want you, Severus. Hurry; you've made me wait long enough."

Her last request was paired with a small wriggle of her hips, attempting to make Severus finish what they started.

"Have I?" he countered with just a hint of dry humour, lifting his head to look down at her. "I seem to remember a few positions that piqued your curiosity. May I indulge you?"

"Trust you to remember that," Hermione laughed, reaching up to play with the mussed hair framing Severus' face. "Whichever one that Mina told me about, that one. And then later on the one you mentioned."

"Your friend," he began, grasping beneath Hermione's knees to arrange her legs behind his back, "told you about the Reclining Lotus, which is what we'll try first. The other is called The Nirvana."

"Isn't that what just happened on your sitting room's floor?"

"Enough of your cheek, witch."

Severus braced himself on both forearms and moved closer to Hermione. Her arms and legs firmly ensnared him, and Hermione eagerly arched her hips up, waiting for him to continue. Nose buried in the crook of her neck and one hand secured beneath her shoulder, Severus paused for a moment, enjoying the way Hermione's soft palms smoothed over his upper back.

All was quiet for a moment as their mouths reconnected. Hermione had just slipped her tongue into Severus' mouth when the thick, blunt end of his cock began pushing into her. He'd been stiff enough to find her entrance without the guidance of his hands, and inch by torturous inch, he sank into her hot, rippling walls.

"Oh, fuck, you feel better than I imagined," he groaned in a wavering voice next to her ear, pulling out all the way before carefully plunging forward again. "Do you like that, Hermione? Do you like my cock inside you, filling you?"

"Yes."

That single word escaped amongst a sharp inhale. There was a sweet, fiery ache that Hermione experienced when his cock initially breached her snug walls. Completely filled to the womb and utterly consumed, Hermione could do little more than cry out. Her frame shook when Severus retreated again, only to forcefully bury himself to the hilt in one fluid motion, leaving his sac pressed tightly against her clenched behind.

"This is what you've been yearning for all this time, isn't it?  _This_ is what you've been craving without even knowing it."

_"Yess!"_

Severus was right; this was exactly what she had been missing all along. Hermione had no idea that it was possible to be perfectly stretched and filled, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. When he began moving his narrow hips in a fervent rocking motion that soon had her straining against her own skin, she clutched onto him as if he were the last thing keeping her grounded. Each of his deep thrusts forward knocked a guttural moan or a hissed swear word from the back of her throat, and she thought she'd go mad from the intensity.

Short nails dug precariously into his skin, without moving, but Severus told himself that it would be worth having his shoulders clawed to bloody ribbons if it meant seeing Hermione break apart once more. She wasn't the only one that had been going stir crazy from their exchanged emails. Night after night, he wondered about the person that managed to capture his undivided attention. While the majority of their exchanges had been sexual, he never would have agreed to meeting had she not also stimulated his mind. Yes, she had been his student, but as Hermione so eloquently stated, the past was the past. Thankfully, that era of his life was a closed, if not forgotten chapter. If Hermione stuck around after tonight, perhaps one day he would confess to being relieved when she agreed to go home with him. Now he was buried deeply within the tightest, wettest cunt he'd ever experienced, lustily fucking the witch who had become the source of his torment into his mattress and causing her to babble from the pleasure of it all. Her legs had fallen from his waist and were now curled around his thighs, tensing and squeezing as she raised her hips to meet his.

Hermione alternated between silent screams and shrill cries as her body was continuously stroked to new heights of abandon. She was helpless to stop the oncoming maelstrom, nor would she try to stop it. Not that she would be able to even if she wanted; Severus had taken everything she had to give and replaced it with every bit of his fibre and being, and it left Hermione gasping for air as she spiralled out of control.

Life would never be the same for her again after this night. Severus Snape was the fuel to stoke the fires of passion deep within her that she never knew existed, and every part of her felt as if it had finally been given life. Hermione was forever a changed woman, never once envisioning that all it would take was a visit to her former professor's house in Kennington.

"That's it, sweet girl," Severus was now crooning into her ear, his own voice on the edge of breaking. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come apart for me."

 _"Oh...gods..."_ Hermione whimpered repeatedly, her lovely, reddened face becoming scrunched up the further out she waded into a sea of bliss.  _"Oh...gods...Severus..."_

The more Severus tried to stave off the knot of heat in his belly, the more it became apparent that he was fighting a losing battle. He didn't want this to end; Hermione felt entirely too good and he yearned to hear her cries for as long as possible. But gods, the tight fist of her silken cunt... her walls gripped him with every thrust and Severus knew he didn't have a praying chance of lasting one second longer.

"Come for me, Hermione, come for me," he urged, tone laden with desperation as his hips slammed into hers. "Let me see you come..."

Their fervent lovemaking had caused the bedclothes to shift. The duvet was halfway off the mattress and two pillows that once lined the headboard were now keeping one another company on the floor next to Severus' nightstand. The headboard was another matter altogether; a few more knocks into the wall and it was sure to leave a dent. All of this, as well as the loudly creaking mattress, went unnoticed by its two occupants who were lost in a battle of lips and a mass of tensed limbs.

Severus' cock stroked some elusive spot inside Hermione that made her see stars, and she felt she would die if he were to stop."Harder, Severus, harder," was the last coherent thing to come from the frenzied witch's kiss-swollen mouth. Severus was in no position to deny her, and delivered one, two, three more hard thrusts that made her scream his name loudly enough to wish he'd used a Silencing Charm. Hermione wasn't the only one who would have benefitted from the spell; Severus never knew himself to be a screamer, but there it was, and his deep voice meshed with hers and echoed throughout the bedroom.

The next thing she knew, air burnt her chest as she fought to inhale or exhale, whichever would allow her to remain conscious. She was being kissed, but the sensory overload had blinded her and she could barely focus on the man above her. Hermione's orgasm seemed to go on and on; screaming seemed as natural a reaction as breathing. Her entire body flexed and tensed of its own accord, and just when Hermione thought it was over, she exploded again.

It was terribly frightening and unbelievably wonderful to give herself completely over, only to receive in return more than she bargained for. Back bowed to the point of breaking as sharp convulsions wracked her from head to toe, Hermione felt herself going higher and higher until she knew nothing and felt everything at the same time.

Her second orgasm seemed to prolong Severus', and by the time he had finished greedily thrusting into her, long after he howled out his release into her hair, she had marginally come back to her senses.

Key word being marginally.

The young woman's screams had slipped into a whimper, and she remained clung to the man above her for some time. Was it afterglow, or something else? Hermione felt as if she had been burnt alive, just managing to survive the fire.

The bed looked as if it had been attacked and torn apart by a pack of dogs. The remaining two pillows had also fallen to the floor, and the fitted sheet covering the mattress had been worked back. None of that mattered. The minute Severus regained feeling in his unsteady limbs, he shifted to Hermione's side and groped blindly with one hand for any bit of the bedclothes. Successfully making contact with some area of the flat sheet, he tugged free enough length to cover them both.

"You..." Hermione began weakly, shocked to find that she had screamed her throat raw. Even more surprising was the way her body continued to tremble long after her climax had subsided.

"Hmm?" Severus hummed, too indolent to form complete words. Whatever Hermione had been trying to say went unspoken, because an immediate light snoring gave away the fact that she was fast asleep.

At this point, sleep was not only a wonderful idea, but a necessity. Severus used his thumb to sweep away the dots of perspiration lining Hermione's forehead and upper lip. She mumbled some sort of wistful-sounding gibberish when a few light kisses were skimmed across her flushed face, even as her eyes remained shut. But she did tuck her head into Severus' chest, subconsciously burrowing into his warmth when his arm slipped over her waist to keep her close.

The following morning was anything but awkward. Around seven, Hermione awoke to a terrible snuffling sound, and opened her eyes to find Severus lying beside her with his head lying flat on the mattress, at an awkward angle. Instead of trying to politely ignore the noise, she Summoned a pillow and shoved it beneath his neck. Thankfully it had been enough to make his snoring stop, and she curled back into his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

She might have been worried about him becoming grouchy, but after two more rounds of sex, as well as sitting naked before the hearth at two a.m., save for a shared throw that covered their legs and shoulders, which gave them additional warmth while eating Chinese food that had been reheated by a charm, there was a newfound sense of intimate familiarity that put things at ease.

The two ate and chatted. Hermione talked about her job, and learnt that Severus had been enjoying retirement, taking the occasional freelance brewing job when certain apothecaries needed his expertise. Otherwise he was comfortable, living on his own in the small detached house that he described as once having been run down until it was purchased. Hermione got the distinct impression that she was supposed to pick up on the 'living on my own' part. That worked in her favour, because she planned on seeing Severus exclusively, if he was interested.

Once their takeaway containers had been scraped clean and deposited in the kitchen bin, Hermione noticed that Severus looked a bit flustered. When she asked what was wrong, he became quite apologetic, stating that he never had guests and only had in coffee, tea, and a some bread. He then went on to say that he would be more than happy to fix her toast and marmalade for breakfast. When she declined, he offered to take her down the pub for Sunday lunch, explaining that they did a nice roast dinner.

Hermione agreed, on the condition that they return to his bedroom so he could show her a few more positions.

By that afternoon, every bit of her ached. Severus snapped at her in jest, explaining that she was twenty years younger and had no reason for aches and pains. He also mentioned that his back ached, before demanding a massage at some point. Hermione acquiesced to the massage, but stated that he would have to come home with her because the royal Duchess needed to be fed.

Severus and Hermione's second date took place in a typical South London pub. This time there had been no call to impress; Hermione ended up wearing the same dress that she wore the night before, which had been refreshed and no longer appeared rumpled thanks to Severus' wandwork. He wore the first thing his hands came upon: black trousers (Hermione found out that he rarely wore anything else) and a jumper. The two sat at a dark wooden secluded table by the window, engrossed in all manner of conversation. As they waited for their meal, Hermione held onto the wooden spoon containing their order number. Sunday lunch consisted of beef, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, roast parsnips and carrots, mashed swede, broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, horseradish sauce and gravy. A pint of cider went to the lady, while the gent requested a pint of bitter. For afters, they feasted on treacle sponge and custard.

While waiting for their meal to digest, Hermione made some fuss about not wanting that day to end. Severus, having been made agreeable from the previous multiple rounds of sex, and now a full belly, claimed that he understood her plight. So when she announced that he would have to stay with her that night—if he wanted to, of course—Severus knew better than to say no.

He had been inside Hermione's home for all of five minutes when her cat sauntered out and settled on her haunches before him. It took three seconds for the feline to decide that her mistress's new companion was agreeable, and Duchess rubbed up against his legs, leaving her trademark trail of white fur.

"So I guess I have to keep you now," Hermione informed smugly, whipping out her wand to clean the hem of Severus' trousers.

"Was there ever any doubt?" he shot back, bending down to pick up Duchess and follow Hermione into her bedroom.

* * *

**_Epilogue_ **

* * *

After five months of dating and going back and forth between houses, Severus asked Hermione to live with him. Many of her belongings had already been at his place, as she had taken to spending the majority of her time in Kennington. Duchess had been staying there full-time ever since her first visit, and she and Severus got on well. The cat loved roaming the once overgrown garden that had been restored to its former glory. Her favourite resting spot was a cluster of white flowers that had been planted by Hermione and Severus. It greatly resembled yarrow, the flower which brought the couple in mind together.

During the last week in her house, which had been spent mostly cleaning and packing boxes, Hermione switched on her computer and logged into Magk for nostalgia's sake. Severus had no idea, but she'd saved all of their early emails, sometimes rereading them when he wasn't around. Those messages had been the tip of the iceberg; the man had outdone himself in the bedroom, and Hermione learned a great deal about herself, in turn, teaching him a few new tricks as well. When it came to making love, they left no stone unturned, and both were unable to get enough of the other.

Just as she had been about to open the very first email, another screened popped into view.

When Hermione first used Magk, email had been her sole means of communication. There had been an instant messaging option that allowed a faster response time. She hadn't used it until after the fact. Although it sometimes had its merits...

_User5428: Good afternoon, 'J'. How are you?_

BookLovr1: Well as to be expected, 'T', thank you. And yourself?

_User5428: Not that well, if you must know._

BookLover1: No? And why is that.

_User5428: Because I think the witch I'm seeing has another lover._

BookLovr1: Oh, that's rotten luck. How did you find out?

_User5428: I heard her whisper his name at night. I'm pretty sure she also called out his name during sex last night, but I can't be sure..._

BookLovr1: Well, you know what they say: best way to get over a woman is to get on top of another one.

_User5428: Is that so?_

BookLovr1: Yes, or so I've been told. So how about it, then?

_User5428: Naughty 'J', are you propositioning me?_

BookLovr1: If I say yes, will you come over?

_User5428: With a request like that, I'd be daft to say no._

BookLovr1: Alright, I'll send my address in a minute. But you must promise to not tell my fiancé. He isn't the sort of wizard you'd want to make mad. He hexes first and asks questions later.

_User5428: Bloke sounds a bit unstable, if you ask me. What are you with him for?_

BookLovr1: He's not unstable...well, maybe a bit. Anyway, he has a way of talking dirty that can nearly make me come without being touched. Just last night, he made me sit on his lap whilst he was fully dressed. I was naked, and he described all the filthy things he would do to me in great detail, only he refused to touch me. By the time he got around to describing the way he wanted to pull me over his face and lick me until I couldn't take it anymore, I was leaking all over the front of his trousers.

_User5428: Lucky bastard._

BookLovr1: He made up for it, though. He pulled his cock out and I rode him backwards while he massaged my clit. Hmm, you have no idea how good that felt. He played with my nipples at the same time and I nearly went mad. Damn, now I'm on fire and he isn't here. I still say you should come over. I promise not to tell if you don't tell.

_User5428: I still don't fancy my cock being hexed off._

BookLovr1: Oh, your cock will be safe, I promise. But I will suggest that you run fast if you see a tall, dark, handsome man peeking through my window.

_User5428: Fine. Give me your address. But if your barmy bloke shows up, I'm Apparating the hell out of there, got it?_

BookLovr1: Understandable.

A minute later, just as Hermione was minimising the chat box on her screen, a loud pop rang out in her bedroom.

"So I'm a bit unstable?" a deep voice asked behind her.

"Just a bit," Hermione replied, rising from her chair and walking over to the man who was perched on the edge of her bed. "And, you're quick with the wand, don't forget."

"Ah, yes," he nodded, guiding Hermione to sit on his knee. "Well let's not waste time. We wouldn't want your man to catch us frolicking behind his back."

"No, we definitely don't want that," Hermione murmured, using her wand to cast a spell to undress them both. "He's barking mad, and it would be a shame if you were to lose this." She was now gently gripping an erection that was at half-mast, which immediately perked up beneath her soft fingertips. "Move up on the bed for me, darling."

"Darling? You'd better not let your fiancé hear that," the man groaned when Hermione had straddled him, sinking down onto his cock. "Pet names and other terms of endearment might send your nutter into a rage."

His hands came around her hips, guiding her to move back and forth. Hermione let out a satisfied sigh and leaned forward to brace herself against his chest.

"You know what? Let him hear; I don't care."

"Careful, witch."

"I love you. And I don't care if he hears that, either."

"And I love you. But you'd definitely better not tell him I said so."

Once they were finished and lying next to one another, naked and panting, he brought Hermione's left hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips.

"So, this is what the fiancé bought you, I presume?" he asked, staring at her engagement ring.

"Yes; he chose well."

"He chose you, didn't he? Obviously he has impeccable tastes, but you didn't hear it from me."

"Of course he has good tastes," Hermione averred, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "That's why he's with me."

A snort was heard from the wizard.

"Remind me again: why am I marrying you?"

Hermione pretended to think for a moment.

"Because I'm brilliant and you love my cat—both of them—and I'm the only witch that's been able to shag your brains out and make you scream."

"Hmph. I don't scream."

"Yes, you do, my darling Severus. You are a moaner and a screamer. A very masculine one, mind you, but a screamer nonetheless."

"Fine, witch. You win. And you tell that shifty bastard who keeps emailing you that I'm going to hex his bollocks off if he keeps trying to chat up my fiancée."

Hermione let out a delighted squeal and launched herself on top of Severus' chest.

"Say that again."

"What?"

"You know what."

"Fiancée?"

_"My fiancée."_

"My fiancée; my Hermione, my future Mrs. Snape, my life and my reason for living. Satisfied?"

"Hmm, it's a start," Hermione murmured, her cheeks glowing as she pressed her lips to Severus'. "Take me home, and then to bed again, and ask me later."


End file.
